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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534860">These Ruined Halls Entomb Stolen Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MithridatesEupator/pseuds/MithridatesEupator'>MithridatesEupator</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>These Ruined Halls Entomb Stolen Time [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But will eventually become pretty hefty and violent, Expanded scale, More realistic depiction of medieval society and warfare, Multi, Self-Indulgent Worldbuilding, Spoilers, Starts very slowly and innocently, There will be romance at some point, retold story</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:06:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MithridatesEupator/pseuds/MithridatesEupator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The cohort for the year 1180 of Garreg Mach Officer's Academy barely has time to be inaugurated before they are assigned a new and mysterious professor. Still, the year must go on, and the three houses must study hard to master all the skills expected of them as future leaders of Fódlan. But soon unforeseen events start to take place, and what was supposed to be a year of education and bonding becomes mired in confusion and increasing conflict. Claude, Edelgard, Dimitri, and the other students of the Golden Deer, Black Eagle and Blue Lion houses find themselves in the middle of a vortex that starts innocuous enough, but one that will soon end up with the three on different sides, all seeking a different future for Fódlan.</p><p>A grittier and more "historical" version of the events of FE3H, interspersed with daily life both pre- and post-timeskip. Includes many new supporting characters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>These Ruined Halls Entomb Stolen Time [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090349</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Dark Skies and a Finale to the Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a revised opening chapter to this fanfic. Chapter II was originally the opening, but I felt that it really did not convey the direction I ultimately want this story to go and was too happy-go-lucky. Instead, I wanted to create a gritty, dark "low fantasy" introduction. That said, the main goal of this series is to present Three Houses in a more "realistic" medieval setting, with an emphasis on roughly 15th century European military technology, tactics and strategy, mixed in with the more fantastical elements that make the Three Houses game and Fire Emblem setting so enjoyable.<br/>I'm new to fanfiction, but I've wanted to write something related to FE3H for a while. Although I enjoy the game tremendously, as well as the small nods to real-life history and poetry in it, I find some aspects a bit too small in size and warfare referred to as horrible, but not necessarily directly depicted as such.<br/>On that note, the main thing I've done so far is scale up everything by quite a lot. In-game, Fódlan seems to be crossable in only a few weeks, and the Monastery is hilariously small for its importance in the story. I've made the three classes are just north of a hundred strong now, the Monastery area is scaled up to be more akin to a late medieval fortress complex, with the in-game area serving as its citadel. I have also added a large number of OC characters not in the game, but will have a role (if maybe slightly perfunctory) in the chapters to come. The first few chapters (apart from this particular one) will simply be about the daily life for students at the Academy, before going more into the story-related events. I hope you find some enjoyment in this, and thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dancer’s hoof slid dangerously in the slippery mud, burdened as he was by his heavy steel barding and scarlet-and-cobalt caparison. He pulled both fore-hoofs back quickly and managed to find purchase after a few attempts, snorting in frustration. A steel gauntlet tapped his armoured side reassuringly.</p><p>“Steady boy, steady. I know this is a hell of a field, but you just have to bear it a little longer.”</p><p>Sylvain Jose Gautier wanted to run a hand through his thoroughly soaked red hair, but he knew it would just fall back into his face moments later anyway. The cloud cover was so thick that it looked like the sun had never risen, and the incessant rain had turned the once green field a churning sea of mud. Rain, and the stamping of thousands of boots, sollerets, and hooves. Straining his eyes, Sylvain could barely make out what was going on, but he knew the battle was not going well. The main <em>bataille </em>of dismounted men-at-arms were holding their own against their counterparts, barely. Clad in heavy plate armour, decorated with a veritable rainbow of colourful surcoats denoting loyalty to dozens of noble houses, the battle lines of living steel hammered and hacked away at each other with war hammers, poleaxes, maces, halberds, and greatswords. He could hear and feel metal striking metal, shouts of anger, encouragement, pain, and the panicked sounds of the wounded and dying. Trails of fire, lighting, and dark energy cast lazy lines in the air over the fighting, some exploding harmlessly overhead when silenced by Spellbreaker mages, others exploding forcefully, sending men and women sprawling into the sucking mud. Banners of blue, red, cobalt, rose, teal, and garnet, all decorated with a catalogue of heraldic devices, danced on pikes over the din of battle.</p><p>A knight <em>banneret</em> so covered in mud Sylvain could barely make out some dark blue on his tattered surcoat came riding up to him on an exhausted rouncey and flung up the visor on his close helm.</p><p>“My lord,” he gasped and Sylvain could see a trail of blood from the side of his mouth, “Lord Vance reports his schiltron is taking heavy losses and cannot hold much longer. They are suffering heavily from repeated magic attacks and forays from enemy billmen and halberdiers, and he asks for reinforcements before his entire <em>bataille</em> is broken.”</p><p>The hand not gripping Dancer’s reins curled into a plated fist. “Oh, that is just fucking great,” he cursed. On instinct he started to reach for the mace fastened to his belt, but he stopped himself and smiled bitterly. This was not the duty of a captain; his duty was to lead others to fight, not to fight the battles himself. Sylvain swung around in his saddle and waved to the party of mounted knights behind him.</p><p>“Gendrick, Rhobart,” he shouted, “get over here, and someone take this man’s horse and get him to a healer.”</p><p>The herald knight started to protest. “My lord, I can still ride…”, but Sylvain spurred Dancer forward and once alongside he put a hand on his pauldron.<br/>
“My friend, you have done enough, we’ll need your strength, everyone’s strength in the days and weeks to come. Rest for now and return to the fight when you are able to give it your all again.”</p><p>Wordless, the knight nodded and allowed a squire to lead his horse towards the rear and the army’s camp. Sylvain’s didn’t watch the herald depart, instead furrowing his brow in anger and looked out over the battlefield once more.</p><p>“Gendrick,” he said to the youthful knight to his right, “where the fuck is Lord Rowe and the reinforcements he promised? Without the men-at-arms and archers from Arianrhod, we’re pretty much screwed.”</p><p>“My lord,” Gendrick started, before Sylvain waved his hand in an angry gesture.<br/>
“Stop it with that ‘my lord’ stuff, Genck, we were classmates in the same year at Garreg Mach and you’re of nobility yourself, so there’s absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t simply call me ‘Sylvain’.”</p><p>Gendrick Immanuel Kleiman, nearly as tall as Sylvain and with hair the colour of rich red wine, wore an extravagant suit of fluted plate without any surcoat, and held in his right hand the pole of a massive swallow-tailed standard. He cleared his throat and started again, a bit louder this time.</p><p>“Lord Sylvain, Lord Rowe’s harbingers arrived in camp an hour ago, but they say the vanguard and the main force have been severely delayed by the sudden deluge, and that it will take hours just for the knights to arrive, never mind the infantry and the supply carts.”</p><p>“Fucking ‘Temporizer Rowe’,” Rhobart said acidly from Sylvain’s left. Taller than Sylvain, but of the same age, clad in dulled steel plate adorned with the sky-blue surcoat of Itha, grey haired Rhobart was blunt but shrewd, a professional soldier through and through.<br/>
“Typical of him to drag his heels when we need his support the most. I bet twenty gold his army has already pitched camp for the day, enjoying an early supper while our men drown in this bloody mud.”</p><p>“I’ll take that bet,” Sylvain countered. “Just look at this downpour, even Ingrid is having trouble in this, and that is before you factor in the enemy’s arrows and bolts. No, for once I am inclined to believe Rowe isn’t actually dragging his ass.”</p><p>Rhobart snorted, making a sound not unlike the sound of frustration Dancer had made a little while ago.<br/>
“Then you’re just as big of an idiot as Ingrid keeps insisting. Rowe, Kleiman, and Gideon are still pretending there isn’t a war on, and you can throw your own father into their illustrious company.”</p><p>Sylvain cast him an angry glare, but didn’t protest. Gendrick shifted uncomfortably in the saddle of his charger Marigold.<br/>
“Begging your pardon, Lord Sylvain, but what do we about Lord Vance? It sounds like his flank is close to breaking.”</p><p>Sylvain sighed, wishing for probably the fiftieth time that day he wasn’t in charge of an entire army. Then he straightened up in his saddle, armour plates clanking.</p><p>“I think we are running out of options,” he said after a brief pause.<br/>
“And reserves,” Rhobart shot in, to which Sylvain nodded sombrely.<br/>
“Yes, the rear <em>bataille</em> is down to just a few companies.”</p><p>He paused and bit his lip in concentration. To the blasts of trumpets and roars of fury the lines of men-at-arms surged forward once again, and the sound of metal on metal redoubled as the ferocious mêlée between the steel-clad shadows of colour intensified. Sylvain could make out shapes of struggling figures in the mud, wounded unable to find their footing and get back up again. While he watched a Spellbreaker mage was blown to bits as she was focusing on breaking apart a <em>Bolganone</em> spell, but didn’t see the <em>Miasma</em> which sent pieces of her muddied cloak and bits of flesh flying in every which direction. Sylvain could taste copper as his teeth bit through his lip in anger.</p><p>“We are not winning this,” he said at length. Gendrick and Rhobart looked incredulously at him for a moment, before Rhobart nodded in agreement.</p><p>“But that does not mean that we can’t bloody their noses while saving can be saved. Rhobart, signal Ingrid, tell her to direct her attention to picking off those Ailell-damned mages they have in the rear. If she starts complaining about the enemy archers and crossbowmen, tell her that it has been raining for so long that their strings have to be completely useless by now, and re-stringing in the middle of battle will take them a while. That should buy us some time to re-organize Vance’s flank. After that, go down there and take control of the men-at-arms and make the poor bastards disentangle. Remember to pick up the wounded along the way, before they suffocate. Genck, I want you to send a herald to find either Rowena or Annette, it really doesn’t matter which. Order them to put together a squad of whatever mages and warlocks under their command that still have some magic left and double-haste them to the right flank. Send another herald to Lord Charon on the left flank, and make him disengage. Unless something has gone completely awry, his <em>bataille</em> should be more or less intact. His forces will serve as the rearguard as we pull what remains of the army back.”</p><p>His two former classmates nodded gravely. Sylvain whistled loudly and a squire shuffled up through the mud, and handed him a heavy cavalry lance and his armet helmet with long scarlet plumes. Rhobart cocked his head in puzzlement.</p><p>“What are you planning to do?”</p><p>Sylvain put the helmet on, the world narrowing down to the thin slit of his visor and the sound of battle and carnage became hollow noises, now mixed with his own breathing.</p><p>“I am going to go rescue Lord Vance, before his angry ghost can come back to haunt me in my sleep. Gendrick, with me, and make sure the standard is held high.”</p><p>Gendrick grinned fiercely and put on his own helmet before flagging down some herald knights and relayed Sylvain’s orders, Rhobart doing the same. Sylvain patted Dancer’s armoured ears, the destrier lowering his head and scraping the mud with a hoof in response.</p><p>“Once more, old friend,” he said, just loud enough for his mount since childhood to register, “once more it is just the two of us and the thrill of the charge. We’ll see it through this time as well, just like always.” Dancer whinnied and tried to do a little hop, but the weight of the armour and the pull of the mud made him just shimmy instead. Sylvain chuckled and unfurled his cloak, letting it spill over his back and Dancer’s hindquarters. Quartered rampant lion in red and white on fields of blue and scarlet, the proud arms of House Gautier. Gendrick came up to him, and Sylvain nodded gravely, and the two spurred their mounts.</p><p>The two rode along the lip of the little hill where Sylvain had placed his standard and where the reserve and camp had been placed. Small parties of monks, healers, and servants from the camp were carrying wounded on stretchers, while young boys with bundles of arrows and bolts were running to the front to supply the archers with fresh ammunition. Some of them came back on those self-same stretchers. Archers and billmen hobbling back from the front who recognised his cloak and Gendrick’s banner cheered, and Sylvain waved his lance back at them. In front of a small copse of trees the pair halted, and Gendrick waved the standard back and forth thrice. Trickling out of the trees were hundreds of knights in fluted plate on barded horses, most wearing scarlet-cobalt surcoats and <em>bases</em>. Sylvain slid open his visor, grinning widely at the company of mounted men-at-arms.</p><p>“Gendarmes of Gautier,” he shouted, making sure he was heard over the clamour of battle, “seems like Lord Vance and his boys have gotten themselves stuck in bit of a bind, and naturally it falls to the cavalry to get them out of it. Now, form up in <em>lances</em> of sixty, and follow me into the shitshow down there, and let’s show the enemy what <em>true</em> knights of Faerghus looks like!” He was answered by a throaty cheer and the clanging of lances and cavalry halberds on shields. Gendrick hefted the royal standard high, quartered lion blue and cream on alternate fields. Sylvain closed his visor with a <em>clank</em>.</p><p>“Knights of Faerghus, do you want to live forever?!” The roar of approval he received in return made his heart soar, and he grinned inside his helmet. Not looking over his shoulder, he spurred Dancer and couched his heavy lance. His ears soon rang with the sound of hundreds of hooves and the clanging of metal on metal, and the shouted voices of loyal men and women.</p><p>“FOR THE KING!”</p><p>“FOR LORD SYLVAIN!”</p><p>“FOR KING DIMITRI!”</p><p>The distance down the hill was quickly eaten up, and the rain spattering against his helmet made it hard to see, but Dancer led him safely through the muddy ground, finding purchase on the packed earth underneath. Sylvain knew he would soon be reaching the rear of Vance’s infantry lines, the distance from the top of the hill wasn’t that far, and the braying of the knights’ trumpets should give the Faerghun foot soldiers enough warning to clear a path. Nothing would be more grimly ironic than being run over by your own countrymen coming to the rescue. Not that it hadn’t happened on a thousand battlefields before this one, he mused darkly. He could feel Dancer’s joy at going full tilt underneath him, and the familiar sensation of hefting a couched lance while wearing full plate brought his mind back to simpler times. Peaceful days spent in the saddle on a training field, flirting with cute girls, trying to stay awake during classes, and avoid getting lectured by Ingrid. It seemed like a lifetime ago, these past years felt like stolen time…</p>
<hr/><p>He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, something pulled him down while an incredible weight seemed to want to squash him. His mouth was full of something, and he tried to spit and cough, but more filled his mouth. Trying to scream for help, he was only able to make gurgling squeals that even he could barely hear. Blind, helpless, the world was seemingly unsure if it wanted to suffocate him or crush him into a pulp.</p><p>
  <em>Felix.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dimitri.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ingrid…</em>
</p><p>Light. Sylvain felt his helmet being wrung off and he could make out a grey and brown haze. Something was in his right eye and he tried to remove it, but his arms wouldn’t move.</p><p>“My lord!” The blurry contour of a face emerged, and Sylvain tried to smile, but swallowed more of the gruesome stuff in his mouth, choking on it. Fingers plunged into his mouth, pulling out the mud and forcing him to retch up what was trying to get down his windpipe.</p><p>“My lord, we need to get you out of here, we need to get you up.”</p><p>“Gendrick,” he managed weakly as gauntleted hands hefted him up on all fours, the weight proving to be the mud sucking his steel armour down. The mud had the colour of burgundy. Casting a glance around, Sylvain could understand why. All around him armoured shapes were locked in desperate fighting, plastered with blood and mud, making it barely possible to make out the colour of their surcoats and cloaks. It was total confusion, and Sylvain realised he must have been out for at least a few minutes. Then…</p><p>
  <em>Dancer!</em>
</p><p>He thrashed around, trying to find his beloved horse. If he was face first on the ground, that must mean something had happened to the faithful animal, his companion for a decade. <em>No, he won’t die here, not Dancer, the best fucking horse in all of Faerghus, not on this shit field which doesn’t even have a proper name!</em></p><p>Trumpets sounded. Not the silvery Faerghun ones, but the bold brazen Adrestian ones. The trumpets were sounding the transition from trot to gallop. Sylvain could feel the thundering sound of hundreds of hooves, hear the clanging of metal on metal. Just moments ago, those sounds had brought a ferocious smile to his face. Now the self-same sounds made his face turn pale and muscles give out. The rain had stopped, he had no idea when. Turning towards the sound of the trumpets he could make out banners, quartered ruby and pink, a black drake rampant overlaid. Underneath the banners were mounted knights in black fluted plate inlaid with pink.</p><p>“FOR THE EMPRESS!”</p><p>“BEAUTY AND HONOUR!”</p><p><em>Of all people, it had to be her, hadn’t it, </em>he thought bitterly as his right hand searched for the flanged mace in his belt, and he struggled to his feet. He could see the one leading the charge now, wearing gilded black plate and her pink cloak fastened with a huge steel plate shaped like the wing of a wyvern. Her blonde hair was shaved short on one side, while long and flowing on the other. <em>Shame</em>, Sylvain thought<em>, she was much cuter when she had braided her hair in crowns back in the day.</em></p><p>Supporting himself on Gendrick, who was still grasping the royal Faerghun standard, Sylvain cast one last wistful look towards the skies.</p><p>“Let’s settle this,” he said, more to himself than anybody else, “let us finally end this, El.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I use a number of terms specific to Medieval warfare, and if they are confusing now, do not worry as they will be explained as the story comes along, either in the context of the narrative or in accompanying notes. Just keep in mind that the armour of the NPC soldiers in-game makes little to no sense, so please instead envision mid/late-15th century European knights and foot soldiers rather than the bulky bois and lanky lads in FE3H.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. This Is a Dumb Idea, Claude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Streams of colours cascaded and broke apart into cylindrical supernovas made of rainbows. Time and space was everything and nothing all at once; empty was full and full was a void unfathomable. Steel had met flesh and flesh had rendered, sinews breaking apart and life had been extinguished like a candle. Three pairs of eyes had looked into one, each promising a different fate, but it did not matter now. The two deep blue eyes had lost their shine, glassed over forevermore. Yet everything and nothing spiralled and stood still, making such a cacophony as to drive one mad, and as silent as to swallow the world. And then, after a second and an eternity, a voice…</p><p>“Honestly, what are you accomplishing with that little stunt?! It’s like you’re trying to get me killed, you fool!”</p><p>Byleth has no answer, because he does not know. But he is pretty sure this is not normal. And he shivers with the phantom knowledge that nothing will ever be normal again.</p>
<hr/><p>“This is a dumb idea, Claude, it’ll never work.”</p><p>Self-proclaimed noodly arms crossed Hilda’s chest and an immaculate pink eyebrow hiked up in suspicion. Her tone was flat, but conveyed her annoyance perfectly.</p><p>“On the contrary, my loyal companion, I have planned this meticulously and I can assure you that <em>this</em> time my little cocoon of a scheme will transform into a beautiful butterfly. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”</p><p>A hand ran through luscious dark and curly locks before Claude crossed his legs and sat back on the greenhouse bench in a relaxed posture, hands clasped behind his neck. Soft sunlight shone down onto them from above, bathing them in pleasant warmth.</p><p>“The latrines won’t be a beautiful butterfly, neither metaphorically or literally, if you succeed. Why are you still trying to poison Lorenz? This has to be the third time you’ve tried just this moon.”</p><p>Unlike Claude, Hilda was keeping her eyes trained on the greenhouse doors, nervous about anyone entering and picking up what they were talking about.</p><p>“Ah, see, it’s actually the fourth, though he noticed I tried it only the one time, so I believe I still have the element of surprise on my side. As to the why? I have had it up to here with his ceaseless blathering of becoming the leader of the Alliance, but that isn’t the reason this time. Were you in the mess hall at dinner two days ago?”</p><p>“No, I was helping Marianne load fodder for the horses and of course we worked through dinner, because she kept dropping bales of hay and we had to… You know what, not important. What happened at dinner?”</p><p>“Well, Lorenz decided that in the completely packed mess hall, with the largest possible amount of witnesses present, to challenge me to a duel for my future seat at the Alliance roundtable. If he won, he haughtily announced, I would relinquish House Riegan’s seat at the table when I became the next duke. If I won, he would graciously back off from trying to usurp my, again future, position at the head of the Alliance.”</p><p>Hilda sighed in equal parts exasperation and resignation. It was just like Lorenz to pull something like that where he could make the biggest scene.</p><p>“Wouldn’t it be simply easier to defeat him in this duel then, instead of going through the extra effort of poisoning him?”</p><p>Claude turned towards his friend and smirked.</p><p>“Ah, where’s the fun in that? I’ve finally perfected this stomach poison too. In its current form, it should be <em>just</em> powerful enough to convince anyone to not stray too far away from the nearest latrine, but not strong enough to actually do any lasting damage to any organs. That is, that is what I theorize. Still haven’t field-tested it, so to speak, so this is both an opportunity to knock Lorenz’ ego down a few pegs, as well as a chemical experiment. Two birds and all that.”</p><p>“And how, o’ great and mighty lord of schemes, do you intend on administering this poison of yours? It’s not like Lorenz will just happily drink a vial you hand him.” The pink eyebrow did another hike up Hilda’s forehead, somewhat higher this time to underscore the ridiculousness she was hearing.</p><p>“You know Deirdre from our class, right?” Claude sat forward on the bench seat now and rested his arms on his legs, momentarily blocking Hilda’s view of the greenhouse doorway. Now it was Hilda’s other eyebrow’s time to make a leap upwards.</p><p>“Deirdre von Albany? Of course I know her; she’s a cousin of mine, first cousin once removed or something like that.”</p><p>Claude seemed to perk up in surprise, but his eyes betrayed that he knew this already, not that it shocked Hilda in the slightest. Damn sneak.</p><p>“Huh, I guess I see the familial resemblance, despite the blonde hair and her, ah, lankiness shall we say. Regardless, I’ve managed to rope her into this little plan. She’ll approach Lorenz to a lovely little time in the gardens for some tea, and when she’s pouring the tea, she’s going to slip the contents of this here vial into his cup.” He held up a small vial with just a little bit of blank liquid at the bottom of it and theatrically dangled it back and forth.</p><p>“And what makes you think she will actually accomplish that? It would be pretty obvious she was doing something nefarious if she just suddenly pulled a chemical vial from her sleeve and…”</p><p>“Ah, you see, you don’t know this, but I have it on good authority that she’s been taking lessons from Shamir in sleight of hand. Unlike your formidable self, your cousin is aiming to master the art of nimble sword fighting, and she thought about learning how to use a dagger as a second weapon. To that aim, she sought out Shamir, who surprisingly agreed to give Deirdre evening one-on-one lessons. Now she is pretty nifty at handling small objects. I mean, you should see how she swirls her quill around when she’s bored in class. I think even Teach is impressed, though it’s pretty hard to tell given his very stoic expression…”</p><p>Hilda sighed and leaned back in the bench. She had to admit, it seemed relatively well put together. Lorenz could definitely not resist a noble lady inviting <em>him</em> to tea (the dynamic was usually… always reversed), and if what Claude was saying about Deirdre’s skill with handling small objects, then there might be a chance to pull it off. However…</p><p>“What is Deirdre’s motivation to go through with this? Why does she want to help you with this plan, I didn’t figure the two of you being very close?” Her tone was flat and not a little bit suspicious. Claude simply laughed and raised his hands in a nonchalant gesture.</p><p>“What can I say? I think the girls of Golden Deer are getting a bit tired of being hit on by the arrogant toad. That actually goes for the Black Eagles and Blue Lions as well. I know for a fact that Teach has received numerous complaints by a myriad of girls from all the classes about Lorenz’ incessant invitations to dinner or tea, and that they are mighty grating. So I figured I would be doing everyone a service by making him look like a right fool for, oh I don’t know, a day or so.”</p><p>“I’m telling the Professor.”</p><p>The voice had come from behind the two seated on the bench and they jumped up in surprise, Claude holding out his hands in a poor facsimile of a self-defence stance. A serious face adorned by a straight cascade of white hair was looking up at them with accusing pink eyes. Lysithea, hands at her hips and looking very stern, had apparently entered the greenhouse when Hilda’s view of the doorway was obscured by Claude’s body, and the tiny mage was looking none too pleased at what she had overheard. Had it not been for the fact that both Claude and Hilda knew the precocious little teenager had the magical acumen to reduce both of them to atoms, they would have laughed in her face, but they didn’t. Instead, Claude slipped back into his socialite persona, adopting that easy smile of his.</p><p>“My sweet princess, I don’t know what you just heard, but it was certainly nothing that would require the attention of the Professor. In fact, if you had heard our conversation in full, I have an inkling that you might have been delighted to know the intended end result of said plot, and furthermore…”</p><p>The serious little face didn’t relent one bit.</p><p>“Aha, yeah, I’m not buying that for one second. If you’ll both excuse me, I’m going to go to the Professor’s office and tell him you’re about to poison a classmate.”</p><p>“Hey,” Hilda piped up in protest, “I’m not part of this, I was just a sounding board for our noble house leader here, I’m innocent in this.” She bit her lip, thoughts clearly racing. “If you want to name names to the Professor, tell him to ask some pointed questions to Deirdre.”</p><p>Claude’s face became crestfallen and he turned to face Hilda, a mixture of disappointment and anger on his face, mouthing “<em>how could you</em>”. Hilda just shrugged as if to say <em>“every girl for herself”</em>. Lysithea’s eyes turned into suspicious slits which danced back and forth between the two of them. At long last they calmed down, but Claude still felt a sense of dread…</p><p>“Wait, I haven’t explained this well enough, you see…” His attempt at an explanation fell on seemingly deaf ears as Lysithea was about to walk back through the greenhouse doors, but she turned back to regard the duo with judging eyes.</p><p>“What you all doing here?” A voice coming from the doors made the three of them turn and look. Deirdre von Albany looked about as confused as Lysithea looked annoyed. Claude could really see the Goneril genes in the lanky blonde, her eyes and face uncannily similar to Hilda. He also knew that she had a bit of a crush on him, so roping her into this scheme had been a piece of cake. Although speaking of cake, he hadn’t accounted for the straight-laced little sweet-tooth magician actually being able to sneak up on him when sounding out Hilda for his plot. Mind racing, slightly in a panic, he turned to Hilda, snapped his fingers and pointed at Lysithea, turned around as she was looking at the newcomer. It took Hilda a moment to figure out what he was trying to signal, but realization dawned on her face and she leapt over the bench in a sudden motion that made Lysithea cry out in alarm.</p><p>“Hey, what are you do-<em>mmph</em>!” She didn’t get to finish the sentence as Hilda put a hand over her mouth and wrestled her to the ground. Claude felt a pang of sympathy for the girl, but he hadn’t come this far to stop now. He quickly walked over to Deirdre, who was looking completely nonplussed at the whole scene playing out, and handed her the vial he had brandished earlier.</p><p>“Here’s the poison, and I trust we’ve been through the plan enough times that you know what to do…”</p><p>“What’s going on here?” The familiar stern voice made Claude wince. <em>Oh no, not her, of all people, not her</em>.</p><p>Ingrid, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, regarded the scene with a mighty frown. Claude could just picture her point of view. Hilda was lying on top of a struggling Lysithea, trying her best to hold on to the squirming girl, while Claude was in the middle of handling a vial containing an unknown liquid to a classmate that was evidently not trying to help the one being jostled to the ground. It wasn’t a good look.</p><p>“Ah, Ingrid, fancy seeing you here…” Claude attempted while trying to slip the vial back into his sleeve.</p><p>Ingrid’s frown deepened, which actually impressed Claude.</p><p>“Don’t try me, Claude. I’m actually lost for words right now at how unacceptable this spectacle is. What in the Goddess’ name do you think you’re doing?”</p><p>Lysithea bit Hilda’s hand that was covering her mouth, resulting in a squeal unbecoming of a Goneril and she drew her hand back.</p><p>“Ingrid,” she shouted, “get the Professor, they’re about to poison L-<em>mmph</em>!” Hilda had switched position to put her knee to hold Lysithea down and both hands were now covering her mouth. Claude made a sort of “<em>what do you want me to do</em>” gesture with his hands, but Ingrid was having none of it.</p><p>“I’m telling the Professor that you’re up to something, Claude.” She turned on her heel and started to angrily march away from the scene.</p><p>“Wait, Ingrid, I can explain!”</p>
<hr/><p>Claude’s shoulders and wrists ached something fierce as he put down the newly washed plate on the stack of others. Hilda picked it up and for the umpteenth time scowled at him before she started drying it off with a towel, and handed it over to Deirdre who accepted it with a scowl of her own, also directed at Claude. Byleth was sitting on a chair in the mess hall kitchen slowly munching on roasted peanuts as he watched his students carry out the punishment he had given them.</p><p>“I trust we’ve learned something today, Mr Riegan?” he asked as Claude sighed and flexed his shoulders.</p><p>“Yeah, Teach, I won’t poison Lorenz’ tea again,” he said in a defeated tone. Byleth’s brow furrowed.</p><p>“I think you need to try harder than that, Claude. Again, have we learned something today?”</p><p>Claude sighed. “Fine, I won’t try to poison Lorenz, nor will I involve other students in my schemes to poison Lorenz, of which there will be none in the future.”</p><p>Byleth nodded, seemingly satisfied, though it was hard to tell with that unreadable expression on his face. He simply popped another handful of peanuts in his mouth and chewed slowly, crossing his legs.</p><p>“I don’t know why I am getting punished,” Hilda whined, “I wasn’t about to partake in this idiotic plot you know, I was just listening.”</p><p>“My thoughts exactly,” Deirdre chimed in bitterly, “I hadn’t even done anything yet.”</p><p>“Hey,” Claude complained, “it wasn’t idiotic, it would have worked had it not been for the two busybodies that interrupted us.”</p><p>“Less talking, more dishwashing,” Byleth said menacingly from behind them, “there’s still about two hundred plates left.”</p>
<hr/><p>Lysithea hummed a cheery tune to herself as she almost skipped back to her room with a plate heaped with lemon cakes, custard tarts, and small apple pies. Who knew ratting out your fellow students could be so rewarding?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Mellow Winds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A bit of a change in tempo and apologies for the sudden introduction of violence, but foraging was a dangerous activity in the Middle Ages, even for seasoned hunters. Unlike the game, I feel it would make more sense if students from different houses with complementing skill-sets were put together to complete specific tasks, such as hunting in this chapter, which somewhat explains the choice of POV characters. Now, I have a lot of OC people, complete with a fair bit of background information, but I'm trying to build them up and introduce them naturally instead of simply dumping them into the story. Thanks for reading, and hope you like this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He didn’t show it, but Dedue was actually enjoying himself for once. Being chosen for hunting duty was not usually something he looked forward to, but being paired up with Petra was an unusually pleasant experience. Going along with someone as timid (albeit skilful at archery) as Bernadetta, or unceasingly blathering as Claude was a challenge to get through, not to mention that it usually resulted in less than ideal hauls. Besides, Claude was still stuck on kitchen clean-up duty last Dedue had heard. Petra on the other hand, lithe and efficient, was scouting ahead and following the tracks of what was by her estimation a pretty large stag, while Dedue, centre of mass low to the ground, was following behind with his bow at the ready. Forming the rear was a chestnut-haired Golden Deer student Dedue hadn’t had much interaction with, a certain Henry von Kent. He seemed a fair enough woodsman, naturally avoiding dry twigs or bundles of leaves that might give away his position. But instead of looking for tracks or keeping an eye out for smaller game in the underbrush, he had his green eyes fixed to the treetops. Dedue couldn’t figure out if Henry was looking for birds or just trying to figure out the time of day by judging the shadows. It was getting pretty late in the afternoon, tracking the stag was arduous in the wet spring grass. They didn’t wear their normal Academy uniforms –gold and black made for very poor woodland clothes– and instead they wore green hooded tunics and dark brown trousers to better blend in with the springtime trees and bushes.</p><p>“Such mellow winds…” Henry muttered to himself. Dedue’s ear perked up as Henry spoke the first words any of the trio had said since entering the forest a bit outside Garreg Mach. They had all fallen silent after Petra had discovered the first tracks on the forest’s outskirts, and the party had communicated by gestures and nods/headshakes ever since. “They bring such words of comfort…” The wind rustled the budding leaves of the trees and a faint scent of flowers could be detected on the air. The afternoon sun shone a bit more brightly as the leaves parted, bathing the small glade in the forest in its warm embrace. Bemused, Dedue was about to ask Henry what he was talking about when he became aware of a presence nearby, just barely outside his peripheral vision. He reacted on instinct, starting to raise his bow and nock the arrow he held at the ready.</p><p>“You can be putting your bow down, Dedue, I am not prey.” Petra’s voice was clear yet hushed, prompting Dedue to answer in a similarly subdued tone. He did as she asked, and lowered his bow. She was smiling ever so slightly as she took a knee next to him and fished out her water bottle.</p><p>“Have you located the stag that we have been hunting?” he asked as he carefully put a knee to the ground to alleviate the muscles in his lower back that had started to faintly ache from the effort of sneaking. Petra shook her head between sips of water, her elaborate braid whirling back and forth. She was panting slightly.</p><p>“No, I have still to be seeing the quarry we have been doing the tracking of. Yet, I am certain it has proximity. I can sense the scent of it on the wind.”</p><p>The mention of wind brought Henry back from whatever he was evidently daydreaming about back into reality.</p><p>“You can feel it too?” he said inquisitively, holding his bow nowhere near at the ready. Petra’s eyes narrowed slightly, just barely enough for Dedue to notice. She was apparently not approving of his hunting techniques.</p><p>“I am unsure what you are saying by ‘feel’, but yes, I can sense that the object of our hunt has closeness.” She cast a glance back into the dark woods. <br/>“Yet I am worried that we are not the only who are hunting.”</p><p>A plaintive and ominous howl split the air, as if to underscore her point. Dedue and Petra locked eyes and she nodded sagely. Wolves came in all shapes and sizes across Fódlan, from the huge shaggy beasts to the north of Faerghus to the silent and black hunters of Fódlan’s Fangs, but one thing that they all had in common was their calculating ferociousness and the fact that they were never alone. Three students armed only with hunting bows and daggers were easy pickings if set upon by a pack of Oghma wolves, especially if they were unprepared.</p><p>Dedue was by no means inexperienced as an outdoorsman, but despite their limited interactions at the Academy, he knew that the Brigid princess was by far the superior hunter and he suspected she had lived most of her life in the wilds.</p><p>“What is our course of action?” Dedue was frequently described by his fellow students as “taciturn”, which he didn’t protest, and in this case it was a good thing. Petra’s lack of complete mastery of common Fódlanese often led to misunderstandings, especially when people used idioms or colloquialism. Dedue’s direct way of speech might seem offsetting for other students, but Petra silently appreciated it. She beckoned for Henry to move in closer, and he shuffled towards them, but remained at a respectful distance.</p><p>“We can be doing one of two things. First, we could continue to walk along the path farther into the forest and locate the stag before the wolves.” Another howl could be heard, further away, but with more power behind it than the first. “Or we could be returning to the monastery without quarry.”</p><p>Henry piped up for the first time in a while, his shaky voice betraying how scared he actually was. <br/>“I think we go for option two. Yeah, option two is good, I like my limbs firmly attached to my body and not, say, digesting in the stomach of some angry predator. And furthermore –“</p><p>Dedue shot him a sideways glance that silenced the Golden Deer up, hugging his bow tighter to his body. Petra chuckled, taking the other two completely aback.</p><p>“It is humorous,” she said with a smile on her face, “you are of the Golden Deer and are acting just like that, a deer. You are wanting to run when you hear beasts of prey.”</p><p>“I am not!” Henry protested, slightly louder than what was probably wise given their current situation, but Petra chuckled again.</p><p>“You are reminding me of a girl in my class. She too is not having fondness of being likened to prey.”</p><p>Dedue sighed resignedly. <br/>“Might we continue this discussion later? I think we need to decide on what we need to do right now.”</p><p>The purple-haired princess offered what she hoped was a placating smile. “We need not be worrying right now; I was only seeing their tracks and hearing their howl, meaning that they are likeliness still a good distance away.”</p><p>Henry’s response was unusually high pitched. “Firstly, I think that decision has just been made for us, and secondly, Petra, you are oh-so very wrong.” He pointed with a trembling finger to the copse of bushes behind Petra. The eyes of the other two followed where he was pointing and watched in horror as not one, not two, not three, but four wolves covered in thick brown fur came stalking through the bushes. Baleful yellow eyes stared back at them and alabaster teeth were bared in snarls. Henry produced a sound not unlike what a scared stoat could have made.</p><p>“Oh fire spirits, this is not good,” Petra pointed out, slightly unhelpfully. The trio slowly rose from their knees into a crouched and ready position, backs to each other, not daring to make any sudden moves.</p><p>“There are more behind us,” Dedue whispered. Petra simply nodded; she could feel their presence as they had brushed aside the branches of a thick evergreen, disturbing the air in the small clearing. Slowly she nocked an arrow to her bow, while the wolves started to fan out and circle them, looking for an opening to strike. Dedue quickly evaluated the situation. There had to be at least seven of the beasts surrounding them, possibly more, and given how they were slowly closing in and considering his own subpar archery skills, he simply put his bow down slowly on the ground and pulled out his dagger. It was a short blade, meant primarily for skinning game or putting animals out of their misery, not for fighting off angry predators. Still, it was better than nothing, and he held it at the ready, his left hand open in order to grab onto fur for purchase.</p><p>“I don’t think we’re getting out of this one so easily,” Henry said. “Remind me never to go hunting with you people again if we somehow survive this.”</p><p>“Duly noted”, Dedue answered dryly, he was usually not in the mood for frivolities and especially not in this situation.</p><p>“We will be attacking on the count of three,” Petra said calmly. <em>How could she be so calm in this situation?</em> <br/>“One…” Henry drew the goose-feathered arrow up to his chin, bow-string taut.</p><p>“Two…” Dedue shifted forward and readied his lower body to leap into the nearest wolf.</p><p>“Three!” The clearing exploded in activity all at once, the feral intelligence of the wolves picking up that their mark were about to charge.</p><p>Petra loosened her arrow and almost before the string had slackened her free arm was already reaching back for another arrow from the quiver on her hip. Simultaneously, she jumped to her right to avoid a particularly large she-wolf that sprang up, her body like a spring coil ready to release its tension. Her first arrow <em>thwacked</em> right above the eye of the wolf she had been aiming at, the animal dead before it even hit the ground as its legs gave out. Henry released his arrow as well, hitting his target right in its open maw, but instead of reaching for a new arrow, he simply dropped his bow and in a spinning motion drew his two daggers and flipped them blade down. Dedue went on the offensive and using his large physique and sudden forward momentum, barrelled straight into the large wolf just off to his left. The two tumbled to the ground, the beast snarling and snapping at Dedue’s hands and face while the large man from Duscur tried to find the animal’s throat to grab onto beneath all its fur, while stabbing and slashing wildly with his dagger.</p><p>The glade was a flurry of fur, rapid motions, barking, snarling, inarticulate shouts and groans. Petra, nimble on her feet, danced aside as the she-wolf regained her footing and lunged for her again, terrifying maw snapping at her heels. Petra drew and loosened her arrow at another wolf, but trying to shoot accurately while dodging was praying hell on her aim, and the arrow embedded itself in the flank of her target, resulting not in a kill but a mad howl of pain and anger and drew its attention to her. <em>Oh fire spirits…</em> Realizing the bow had done its work, she dropped it and drew her hunting dagger. Usually she could be seen wearing the long curved sword that was an optional part of the Academy uniform and now she wished dearly for the thin blade. She didn’t have much time regret leaving it behind as the she-wolf was still on her tail. Jumping aside another biting lunge, Petra spun on her left heel and delivered a solid kick to the animal’s head, taking some crude delight in the slight crack, more felt than heard, as her boot connected. Mewling, the brute staggered back, tail flopping down between her legs. <em>Good</em>, Petra thought, <em>the will to fight is leaving this one</em>. She had barely time to make notice of this before the one she had just recently shot jumped up and white teeth sank into her left sleeve and the flesh beneath. Crying out in pain, she whirled around and in one fluid motion ran her dagger into the wolf’s neck, putting all her power behind the thrust. Yet the beast did not go down. Instead it started to pull and tear at her arm and Petra lost her balance. She fell hard to the grass and felt her body being dragged along by the wolf. The pain was immense and she realized she had been screaming continuously for long seconds. Desperately she pulled back the dagger, both blade and the hand grasping it slick with blood, and slashed at the animal’s eyes. Blood spurted into her own eyes, but the howl and release of pressure on her wrist told her she had hit her mark. Scrambling back with kicking feet, she managed to buy a few feet on the wounded wolf and tried to wipe the blood from her face, but only smeared more of it –her own this time- since her left sleeve was a torn mess.</p><p>Dedue was having a hard time of his own. He landed another closed fist on the wolf’s nose, while his other hand was gripped like a vice around its throat, hoping to choke out the beast. His dagger was firmly embedded in its left ear, but the brute’s lust for blood was overpowering its dumb feral brain’s cries of pain. Dedue barely shimmied out of the way as snapping teeth sought to find his shoulder and collar bone, landing another hit on the wolf’s nose. “Just die already!” he tried to cry out, but what came out was an inarticulate roar of frustration and exertion. The two were rolling on the ground in their own little duel to the death, oblivious to what was going on around them. One second the wolf was on top, biting down, the next it was Dedue, raining punches. Neither was willing to give up. The wolf finally found purchase and teeth sank into Dedue’s shoulder. Crying out in pain, he tightened the grip around the beast’s throat. Fuelled by pain, adrenaline, anger, his grip continued to tighten. And tighten. And tighten even further. Dedue, a roar coming from as far down his throat as humanly possible, felt muscles pull and tendons strain to the point of snapping as he poured all his strength into his hand. With a sickening sound that was halfway a <em>crunch</em> and a <em>squelch</em>, something in the wolf’s throat gave away and the beast simply slumped down, the pressure behind the teeth in Dedue’s shoulder disappearing. It took Dedue a few precious moments to catch his runaway breath and, with considerable and painful effort, he opened his hand and rolled off of the beast to lie on his back.</p><p>Henry’s mind was occupied repeating a single mantra: <em>oh goddess fuck oh goddess fuck oh goddess fuck</em>. He rolled forwards on his hands, completing a full roll and quickly rising to his feet. He cast a desperate glance at his two daggers that were still stuck in the dead body of his second kill, but now he was left facing a third wolf with nothing but his bare hands. Turning around to face the slobbering beast he held out his hands in a placating manner.</p><p>“Heh, nice doggy, good doggy,” he tried, voice meek and trembling. <em>Who the fuck am I kidding, trying to calm down a blood-crazed wolf by pretending it’s a show poodle? </em>He slowly backed away as the wolf came nearer, its low growl making Henry’s body vibrate as it closed in for the kill. Suddenly his back hit something solid and his animalistic instincts told him he was backed up against a tree. <em>Nowhere to run now</em>, his dejected internal voice said, <em>good job young von Kent, looks like this is where your fable ends, a cautionary tale of man’s arrogance when faced with cruel nature</em>. The wolf was so close that if Henry hadn’t pulled his hands back to protect his face, he could have reached out and touched it. He could smell its horrible breath and feel its yellow eyes upon him. Leaves rustled. Suddenly the smell of rancid meat was replaced by the scent of Fódlan in the spring. Newly blossomed marguerites, budding birch leaves, wild ivy and lilies-of-the-valley all competed for attention in his nostrils. The wind that carried the aroma of flowers was warm on his skin, making his muscles ease up. He forgot where he was, enraptured by the forest’s embrace. Henry’s legs gave away and he slid down the trunk of the beech he was leaning against. At some point he had closed his eyes. His hands sought and found the soft grass and he ran his fingers through the sweet-smelling blades.</p><p>“Mellow winds,” he murmured, “bringing such words of comfort…”</p><p>He didn’t realize that he had fallen unconscious before he was jolted awake and found himself staring straight into Petra’s worried lilac eyes.</p><p>“Henry…” her voice seemed like very far away or like underwater. Henry thought that was hilarious for some reason.</p><p>“Henry,” she tried again, “are you able to stand?” She offered a hand to him, the other he could see was hanging limply by her side. He slowly shook his head and staggered to his feet, getting a sense that if the mild gust of wind returned it would knock him right back down. He looked around the little clearing. Dedue was already busy skinning one of the wolves for its pelt. Henry’s bow lay broken and discarded next to the corpse that still had his two daggers stuck in it. Somehow they had managed to slay five of the beasts and were all still in one piece. Well, mostly in one piece he corrected himself as he got a better look on Petra’s unused arm and the red mess of her sleeve. She noticed he was staring and produced a weak smile.</p><p>“Do not be worrying, Henry, I can still be closing and opening my fist, so permanent damage has not been done to my wrist.”</p><p>“Good,” Henry tried to say but it died in a choke and he coughed before trying again. “Good, that is good.” He looked down at his own hands. They were clean and surprisingly devoid of blood. Putting them up to his face, he smelled them and was attacked by the heady aroma of lilies-of-the-valley. No foul copper smell of blood could be detected. He stood watching his hands for a short while before a gentle cough brought him back to the present. Dedue, kneeling and with a bloody hand holding his dagger resting on a lifted knee, eyed him suspiciously.</p><p>“If you don’t have anything better to do,” he said in a low tone that made it clear he was not really asking, “could you help me skinning these beasts? We might not be able to bring back meat for the Monastery larder, but we can at least bring back some furs. These’ll make nice linings for coats or bed coverings come fall and winter.”</p><p>Henry bobbed his head up and down in agreement, took one last look at Petra and went to fetch his daggers. Dedue and Petra locked eyes and shared a brief moment of mutual confusion before Dedue went back to work with his dagger, and Petra began retrieving arrows from the dead bodies. Where the rest of the wolves had gone, none of them knew, nor why they had suddenly scampered off, tails between their legs.</p><hr/><p>The sun had almost completely set and the tall Garreg Mach Monastery walls were painted in a dark pink hue. The Gatekeeper stifled a yawn for probably the seven-hundredth time and stretched his arms as far above his head as his chainmail and partial plate armour allowed him, metal clanking and clattering against metal. Only another half hour and the students’ curfew would be sounded and his shift would be over. Usually he would wander to the mess hall and grab something to eat –the cooks spared some dinner for the late-shift guards–, but tonight he felt like going down to the town and hit up a tavern for a pitcher of ale and a meat platter before heading back to barracks. Gatekeeper’s mind was busy picturing the assortment of choice cuts that the <em>Valiant Hen</em> served when he suddenly became aware of movement. Grabbing his halberd which was resting against the wall of the gatehouse, he was about to adopt a ready-stance when he recognized the shapes coming down the winding path from the Garreg Mach forest. Meat and ale forgotten, he was now staring at the bedraggled spectacle of Dedue with a bandage across his neck and shoulder, Petra with her left arm in a makeshift sling, and Henry completely laden with thick brown pelts. A few monks on their way back to the Monastery from the town stopped and stared at the sorry state of the trio. They stopped before Gatekeeper, and Petra lifted her good arm in a greeting, a careful smile on her face.</p><p>“Greetings, we are returning from our hunting.” Gatekeeper leaned to look past her at Henry, who tried his best at producing a nonchalant smile behind the pile of pelts he was carrying, but failed completely. Dedue looked… like Dedue, but just a bit roughed up. Honestly, Gatekeeper was sure he had seen him with worse injuries after sparring with Professor Byleth, but wasn’t about to mention that now.</p><p>“Ah, the hunt was successful I take it?” Gatekeeper asked hesitantly. Petra’s smile turned into a grin.</p><p>“Yes quite,” she said in a cheerful tone that belied the sorry state of her party, her eyes dancing with sudden glee, “nothing to report.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, Henry is supposed to be a bit of an odd one, and his connection to nature will come back later :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. In Which Edelgard Discovers Being a Knight isn't All it's Cracked Up to Be</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The idea for this chapter was more serious than it turned out, but I sort of like where it ended up. FE3H really undersells the difficulty of training with a multitude of weapons and in different forms, so I've tried to illustrate how badly it can go when inexperienced students are put on the spot. I specifically haven't mentioned which moon of 1180 the story is set in so far, but that will become clear in the next chapter. As always, thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Garreg Mach jousting grounds lay outside the inner walls of the monastery, leading out through a postern gate from the stable areas, but were still located within the curtain walls that surrounded the massive fortress complex. Stands and benches on both sides of the grounds made it possible for spectators to watch when jousting tournaments were hosted, usually by the Knights of Seiros or knights from the Garreg Mach garrison, but now the fence separating the jousting lanes had been removed and the ground was prepared for mounted exercise. Edelgard hefted her heavy lance to get a better grip and shifted the shield that was strapped to her left arm uncomfortably. About forty Black Eagle students were arranged in formation, everyone mounted on barded chargers and wearing heavy plate armour. The armour was reinforced with padded leather on the inside, meaning that if unhorsed one would simply get a concussion and a few fractured ribs instead of broken bones and internal bleeding. Sir Ingram from the Knights of Seiros was riding back and forth in front of the motely troop of students, seemingly unconcerned with the high afternoon sun. The same sunshine was turning Edelgard’s armour into a furnace and threatening to boil her alive in her own sweat and she could hear faint moans of discomfort from some of the other students.</p><p>“There are few weapons on the battlefield as powerful as a formed body of armoured knights,” Sir Ingram boomed, plumed helmet under his arm and the reins to his stallion Myrmidon wrapped around the other. “Wyvern riders and Pegasus knights might have the advantage in mobility, but mounted knights in formation -given time and ground to build up their speed and charge home- will always have more physical momentum. No line of infantry, no matter how steadfast, brave and well-armed, can stand against a squadron of knights charging in wedge formation.”</p><p>Edelgard’s assigned horse for the exercise, Orchid, lowered her head and snorted loudly, obviously also feeling the effect of the sun, heavily barded in cloth and armour as she was.</p><p>“However,” Sir Ingram continued, turning Myrmidon back around again, “that is also the shortcoming of a mounted charge. Cavalry requires flat terrain and time to build up said momentum. Horses cannot advance at speed through forests or across rocky ground, nor can a tightly packed formation of heavily armoured men and horses turn quickly. A successful charge depends on ideal conditions, perfect timing, and excellent judgement from the commander.”</p><p>A hand shot into the air from among the mounted students and Edelgard had to suppress a groan.</p><p>“Yes, Conrad?” Sir Ingram pointed to the student in question with his plumed helmet.</p><p>Conrad von Rusalka was a tall and handsome youth, blonde hair pulled back and held in place with a bejewelled clip, and while not outwardly muscular he possessed impressive physical strength. His twin brother, Constantine von Rusalka was next to him in line, and although similarly tall and having the same handsome high cheek bones, his light brown hair was short. The Rusalka twins were as night and day, Conrad strong and fierce, Constantine shrewd and agile. Edelgard got on well enough with Conrad, but whenever she tried to strike up a conversation with Constantine, she felt like he was deliberately avoiding talking about himself or anything regarding his family. In that regard, he was like Claude or herself, not divulging any personal or intimate information and instead deflecting or changing subjects. She had to admit she begrudgingly admired that, but it was nevertheless frustrating that a classmate of her was this enigmatic, especially one of such high nobility. As if he could read her thoughts, Constantine glanced quickly over at Edelgard, and she fixed her eyes forward on Sir Ingram, hoping he hadn’t noticed her looking at him. <em>Damn it, El, focus.</em></p><p>“Sir, if we’re to become officers and generals and lead entire armies, why are we all dressed up in armour and formed up like regular knights?” The groan Edelgard had previously supressed made its triumphant return and she had to concentrate to not fling her head back in consternation. <em>Conrad could be such a dunce</em>.</p><p>“Simple, young Rusalka,” Ingram said, resuming his mounted pacing. “As commanders, you must be aware of the capabilities as well as the limitations of the troops under your command. If you do not have a thorough appreciation of what it feels like to conduct a mounted charge, how will you know when and how to command your troops to carry out one?”</p><p>Conrad turned a shade of pink and shrunk a bit into his armour. Someone in the rear ranks chuckled. Edelgard used the brief respite to take a look at their ragged formation. Less than half of the total number of Black Eagle students was on the field, many of the abstainers were sitting in the stands, watching. Among them were Petra, her arm still in a sling after her unfortunate hunt less than a week back, Bernadetta (Hubert had made sure she was at least in attendance and not stuck in her room) who had emphatically argued that she had no business donning armour and wielding a lance, and Dorothea who as a magic user was next to useless pretending to be a knight for a day. Linhardt was sprawled out on a bench with a book covering his face, no doubt hard asleep. Mathilda von Essar, another mage, was chatting excitedly to Bernhard Vance from the Blue Lions who had been attracted to the spectacle. There were several more Blue Lions and a Golden Deer or two on the stands, but most were Black Eagles not partaking.</p><p>“Come then,” Ingram shouted, putting on his helmet, “let us start with some simple formation manoeuvres. I want you all to don helmets and hold your lances upright. On my command, you will trot down to the end of the grounds, halt your steeds and then turn around.”</p><p>Metal clanked as the students put on their heavy great-helms. Edelgard’s entire world became a tiny slit in front of her eyes and the boiling inferno of her armour.</p><p>“And, forward to trot!” At Sir Ingram’s order the students started forward. The varying level of horsemanship was clear as day when some managed to only get their horses to walk, while others like Edelgard, Ferdinand, Maynard, Eleanor von Morgaine and Conrad immediately got their mounts to the trot. This inevitably led to a disruption of their already ragged formation and about two dozen students reached the end of the grounds well before the others. Ingram shook his helmeted head when the last stragglers caught up and clumsily turned their horses around. Now Edelgard was in the rearmost line of the formation, and the least skilled horsemen in front.</p><p>“I can see that some of you might benefit from some extracurricular equine training,” Ingram said disgruntledly, “but we’ll deal with that later. For now, I want you all to ride back across the grounds, this time at a canter. Here is a tip regarding formations and the psychology of horses. If you students in the rear, since you were clearly the more skilled riders, quickly get your mounts up to canter, the horses in front of you will also pick up speed. This is simple herd behaviour, but it is also a psychological boost for humans as well. If one feels pushed from behind, the urge to push faster forward becomes stronger. And, forward to canter!”</p><p>Edelgard spurred Orchid harder than last time, and the rouncey hopped off at a two-beat gait. For a fleeting moment Edelgard was afraid that Orchid would collide straight into Lothar and his mount, but the other horse detected Orchid coming up fast from behind and picked up its own speed. This time the formation made it down to the opposite end of the grounds in a much more compact pattern. Turning Orchid around, Edelgard found herself at the front again, but somehow Eleanor to her right had been replaced by Ferdinand. Despite wearing full plate and a closed great-helm, she knew it had to be Ferdinand given his near perfect form and the way he held his back straight in the saddle. Reluctantly, she had to admit that Ferdinand was a much better rider than she was. Being the crown princess of Adrestia, she had of course had extensive lessons in riding and mounted combat, but Ferdinand managed to combine training and theory with a natural affinity for riding and a sincere enjoyment of jousting that Edelgard simply couldn’t match.</p><p>“Are you alright, Lady Edelgard?” She nearly jumped in her saddle at the sudden enquiry. Hubert had lifted the visor of his helmet and was looking at her with concern. Well, there were few people other than Edelgard who were able to read Hubert’s facial expressions, so to everyone else he looked as ghoulish as usual, but there was a glimmer of worry in his eyes. She lifted her visor using her shield arm and sucked in a breath of fresh air.</p><p>“I am alright, Hubert, nothing to worry about. I am simply warm from wearing all this armour. Getting off this horse and a drink of water will sort me out.”</p><p>“This is nothing,” the annoying voice of Ferdinand piped up from her right, “when I was training with the household knights of House Aegir, we routinely spent eight hours in the saddle all through the Garland and Blue Sea Moons. This piffling swelter is nothing compared to that.”</p><p>Edelgard gritted her teeth and quickly closed her visor again so Ferdinand didn’t see her reaction. <em>Gods, what a boor, I hope he has a sunstroke. </em></p><p>“Alright, last round down the grounds, this time, as you can probably guess, try to get your horse up to a full gallop. The trick here is to stop in time and as a unit. Therefore, start reining in your mount about three-fourths along the way or else you might end up tipping over the fence at the end or rearing your horse.”</p><p>The Black Eagles set off again, a bit more confident this time and the lines managed to keep pace admirably. Still, Wilbur and Susanna weren’t able to stop in time and both their horses reared up, the students tumbling out of their saddles and landing hard on the packed sand. Edelgard winced as the heavy <em>clang</em> of their armour mixed with an uncomfortable and bodily <em>thump</em> as they hit the ground. A few of the bystanders, Dorothea and Mathilda among them, rushed to help them off the field, both students humping along with noticeable limps.</p><p>“Unfortunate,” Ingram commented, seemingly unconcerned, “but that is what happens when you don’t slow down in time. Horses are both very brave and extremely skittish creatures; with a confident rider they will charge a forest of spears and pikes, but when spooked can be as unpredictable as a wild fox. Know your animal well, and know the limitations of your riding skills and you will generally succeed.”</p><p>He clapped his gauntleted hands together. “Now for the real point of this exercise,” he announced loudly, and although Edelgard couldn’t see his face, she could hear the wide grin he was no doubt bearing underneath his helmet. A group of squires, in addition to Sir Geraint, Sir Luna and Sir Quentin of the Knights of Seiros, came out from the nearby armoury, each carrying a heavy wooden training dummy. One by one, and returning to fetch more, they planted them in a double line at the far end of the pitch. Once placed, they flipped a lever at the feet of the dummies and an iron spike attached to the base of the dummies dug into the sand. As they continued to set up, Ingram started to explain, removing his helmet for emphasis.</p><p>“Now that you have some experience of accelerating in formation, now the time has come to combine that with using those heavy training lances you have been issued with.” He waved an arm at the assembling “infantry line”. <br/>“These dummies are affixed with a metal hook that ensures that they stay upright unless hit dead centre in the chest, upon which the hook retracts and the dummy falls over. A hit on any other part of the dummy or a glancing hit will be totally ineffective and the target will remain standing. And to provide some incentive to succeed…”</p><p>Ingram’s voice trailed off, accompanied with a lopsided smile, and Edelgard looked past him to see what he was talking about. Luna, Quentin and the squires were fitting the dummies with long spear shafts that had had their metal tips replaced with cloth bundles that no doubt contained pebbles or some other hard materials.</p><p>“If you miss your lance thrust and fail to knock down your target, there is a good chance that you’ll be ‘impaled’ on these spears. Oh, and it goes without saying that you will be going at the dummies in formation, say two lines at a time. The trick is to speed up sufficiently that your charge will have impetus, while not too fast for you to couch and aim your lances.”</p><p>Many of the students looked at each other hesitantly, but Ferdinand and Conrad (their visors lifted) wore cock-sure grins on their faces. For Edelgard, the uncomfortable warmth from the sunlight was suddenly replaced with a dread of landing on her ass and being made look like a fool in front of her class. She gripped her lance harder.</p><p>“Alright, first two lines, form up and prepare to charge.” The twenty or so students in front of Edelgard, including among others Hubert, formed into two pretty straight lines and readied their lances. Sir Ingram chopped his arm downwards and the Black Eagles set off, some of them theatrically shouting and hollering. Quickly gaining speed, it looked to Edelgard that they generally held their formation, and about halfway they started to lower their lances and heft their shields. It didn’t help much.</p><p>Edelgard winced as almost to a man the students were upended and thrown from their saddles in almost every humiliating way imaginable. Adeline completely whiffed her thrust and with a solid <em>clonk</em> took a wooden spear right to the head and tumbled bodily off her horse. Caspar managed to hit his dummy, but his aim hadn’t been true and didn’t push the chest fully in. He managed to partially deflect the spear with his shield, but lost his balance in the process and with arms flailing he slid out of the saddle and landed heavily. Hubert was one of very few who managed to stay in his saddle, but he didn’t manage to score a “kill”, merely avoiding getting hit. Constantine managed to actually hit and “kill” <em>his</em> target, but forgot about the second line of dummies and was “impaled” on a spear as he took it directly in the stomach and for a split second hung in the air as his horse continued riding on without him. He fell right on his backside and immediately curled up in pain, clutching his rear. Edelgard couldn’t help but feel sorry for him; no doubt his tailbone had been broken. The groans and pitiful moaning of the defeated Black Eagles could be heard well across the field. A few onlookers, like Bernhard Vance and the two Golden Deers, were laughing and hooting, but the rest were sitting still in uncomfortable silence. Linhardt had woken up as well, watching intently from the side-lines. Squires helped the fallen up, removing their helmets and assisting them off the field. Adeline, held upright by two squires, spit a stream of blood onto the sand and Edelgard could swear she saw a flicker of ivory in the small crimson pool. She swallowed hard.</p><p>Sir Ingram didn’t seem to spare a single thought for the dozen or so students that now were bound for the infirmary (Edelgard’s mind produced a picture of a particularly irate Professor Manuela as Black Eagle after Black Eagle came hobbling in), and simply waved his hand to signal the rest of the students to make ready.</p><p>“Just watch me,” Ferdinand loudly announced, though whether to Edelgard or Eleanor von Morgaine she couldn’t tell, “I will demonstrate exactly how this is done. I have performed this drill so many times afore, I can do it practically with my eyes closed.”</p><p>A bright spark of an idea popped into her head. She quickly looked around to see how the lines were organised. Ferdinand, Conrad von Rusalka, Eleanor, Lothar von Seyd, formed the centre of the first line, with Edelgard, Maynard Weiss, Loretta Sirin, and Bertholdt von Ochs forming the middle part of the second line. She flipped open her visor as they prepared to charge down the lane towards the dummies.</p><p>“Maynard,” she hissed at the lanky redhead from Fódlan’s Fangs, “switch places with me.” He shot her a confused look, but the servile former Shore Rider did as his house leader ordered, and with some awkward shimmying and forcing their horses to sidestep, they switched spots so Edelgard ended up behind Ferdinand’s left. <em>Perfect</em>, she thought, allowing herself to indulge in a mischievous grin as she flipped down her visor again. <em>Eat your heart out Claude; you’re not the only one who can pull off a prank in this academy.</em> Ingram’s arm came down and the Black Eagles spurred their horses.</p><p>Orchid was quick to reach a canter and Edelgard made sure to steer the rouncey so she stayed exactly just off to Ferdinand’s left. Ferdinand, Eleanor and the others started to lower their lances in order to couch them for the charge, with Maynard, Bertholdt and the others around Edelgard doing the same. Not so Edelgard.</p><p>“Hey, Ferdinand,” she shouted over the clattering of the hooves and the clanking of their heavy armour, “time to put your money where your mouth is!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Ferdinand didn’t have time to say anything more before Edelgard hit the top of Ferdinand’s great-helm with the tip of her lance, knocking it forward so that the eye slit in the visor came down below Ferdinand’s nose, rendering him effectively blind.</p><p>“What the...? What is going on? Hello?” His complete befuddlement and surprise made Edelgard laugh out loud. Ferdinand lost control over the lance in his attempt to replace his helmet and he dropped the reins to Noblesse, who in bewilderment started to veer off and bumped into Eleanor’s personal destrier Venator. Eleanor’s perfect form was disrupted and she looked to her left only to receive Ferdinand’s flailing gauntleted hand right in the head. Edelgard quickly realized her little prank was taking on a life of its own. And then they were upon the dummies.</p><p>Ferdinand, completely in the dark, took a spear in the right shoulder and veritably spun off the saddle with his right foot whirling out of its stirrup while the left foot still held on. The result was that he hit the ground head first and was dragged along, head bumping up and down accompanied by the sound of <em>clang-clang-clang</em> as his helmet bounced off pebbles and the packed sand. Eleanor had completely lost control by the time they were among the dummies and took a spear right in the stomach, but managed to stay in the saddle. Maynard in the second rank, caught completely off-guard, was hit by Ferdinand’s abandoned lance and flopped back over the rear of his palfrey Mermaid. Edelgard was still laughing when Noblesse cut in front of Orchid and her smaller rouncey dashed off to the left to avoid a collision... which led Edelgard smack into the wooden spear of Berthold’s target. She had not couched her lance and the angle was all wrong for her to land a hit anyway, so she acted on instinct and pulled her shield arm closer to protect her torso.</p><p>“Lady Edelgard!”</p><p>“Oh stop fussing, Hubert, everything is fine.” She led Orchid calmly off the field, holding her reins in her right hand, lance abandoned on the ground. She still held her shield close to her body. Sir Luna and the squires were busy cleaning up the messy aftermath of the failed cavalry drill. A few monks from the Monastery had arrived, and along with Linhardt, Mathilda von Essar and Mercedes from the Blue Lions, were busy casting Faith magic healing spells on the worst of the injured. Seteth and Professor Byleth had arrived and were busy taking turns shouting down Sir Ingram for conducting such a violent bout of training.</p><p>“Are you sure, Lady Edelgard? Perhaps we should have that arm looked at, it seemed like you took a nasty hit to…”</p><p>“I said I am fine!” Edelgard snapped to her retainer and Hubert closed his mouth with a click.</p><p>“Hey, Your Highness.” <em>Oh Goddess no, of all the people in Fódlan, why did he have to be here right now. </em>Claude, dressed in a simple shirt and black trousers instead of his usual golden getup, was walking over while smiling that cock-sure smile of his.</p><p>“What a crushing display that was,” he said flippantly as he came up to her. Having already taken off her suffocating helmet, she looked down on him with barely contained disdain and annoyance.</p><p>“I wonder why Sir Ingram thought that this drill would be a smash hit. If anything, it seems to me it would only create a fracture between, you know, the students with good horsemanship and those without.”</p><p>He laced his fingers behind his head in his signature pose.</p><p>“Sorry that your own attempt came to such a crashing finish, I think you had pretty good form right up until the end there.”</p><p>“Stop. Talking.” Edelgard hissed between gritted teeth, low enough that only Claude and Hubert could hear. Sir Quentin and Sir Luna walked past, supporting Ferdinand between them. “I don’t feel so good…” Edelgard could hear the dazed noble say, “and why is the monastery spinning?” Eleanor was dismounting in the background, as doubled over as possible while wearing plate armour. She took a few wobbly steps before wrenching off her helmet and emptying the contents of her stomach in one long heave. Her usually perfectly styled strawberry blonde hair was all messy and Dorothea hurried over to hold it out of her face as she resumed her retching.</p><p>“Oh, I get it,” Claude continued, overflowing with Schadenfreude, “you want to crack on with the rest of the day’s training. I understand, and I’ll leave you to it.” He winked in that infuriatingly way that only Claude could. “Just don’t let this momentary display of less-than-perfection let your spirits fall to pieces, Princess. I’m sure you’ll shatter everyone’s expectations next time around.”</p><p>“Claude,” Hubert said in a tone that was colder than the tallest peaks of the Oghma Mountains, “stop bothering Lady Edelgard and walk away now if you know what’s best for you.”</p><p>Claude simply chuckled. “I was leaving anyway, I have a few hundred carrots to peel before dinner anyway, and you seem rather snappy. Be seeing you, Your Highness.” Sauntering off, Claude sidestepped Constantine lying in a near foetal position while Linhardt was trying to magically un-shatter his tailbone.</p><p>“Do you want me to fetch Professor Manue…?” Hubert didn’t get to finish his sentence.</p><p>“Yes, if you didn’t catch that moron Claude’s stupid mocking, my fucking left arm is broken, so go fetch Manuela at once, the pain is fucking killing me here!” Edelgard swore she would strangle Claude in his sleep. No, first Sir Ingram, and then Claude. Maybe Ferdinand while she was at it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry not sorry for the punny title.</p><p>Now, I've debated (with myself, very productive, I know) if including profane language would be appropriate, but I've come to the conclusion that it serves the helpful purpose of underscoring severity and frustration. If it seems jarring that it is Edelgard being potty-mouthed, remember that she is speaking to Hubert, really the only person she can be somewhat frank and vulnerable around.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Golden School</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter took on a life of its own, so it is a bit here and there for which I apologize, but it serves to place the story in terms of the game's timeline. I also just wanted to write a chapter wholly from Claude's perspective, and firmly drive home that each house isn't just the eight playable characters in-game and slowly filter in some more real-life weapons and how they work. Also, I just needed to get my headcanon of the inauguration ceremony out there. I can vividly picture Marianne sitting all uncomfortable, staring at her food and wishing she was anywhere else during that first meal with her new classmates, the poor thing.<br/>Thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The mock battle between the three houses had been a messy affair, and looking back at it with a moon’s worth of hindsight, Claude was willing to admit the Golden Deer –well, all three classes really– had vastly improved their combat and tactical abilities. The inner court training grounds was filled with Deers sparring or practicing with all sorts of weapons, physical and magical. He bent slightly at the knees and picked up another arrow from those he had stuck tip first into the ground at his feet for easy access and nocked it. In one quick motion, he drew back the string, held it for one brief moment while he adjusted his aim and let it fly. With a satisfying <em>thwack</em> the arrow landed firmly in the red circle of the forty yards target, and Claude allowed himself a smug grin and looked over his shoulder at Henry von Kent and Ignatz, the next two in the archery line. Henry simply rolled his eyes and nocked an arrow as well, but held the string pulled longer before releasing. It too struck the target’s red circle. Henry looked over his shoulder in the same self-satisfied manner Claude had done and Ignatz swallowed hard. The bespectacled youth nocked and drew, but Claude noted he was unsteady on the draw and he held the string taut for way too long, muscle tension making his arms shake with the effort. As Claude was about to tell him to let go, the grey-feathered arrow flew off. It didn’t even come close to hitting the red circle; in fact it missed the target completely and clattered loudly as it bounced off the far wall of the training grounds. Ignatz hung his head slightly and Claude put a hand on his shoulder in sympathy.</p><p>“Look,” he said, trying his best to keep his self-satisfaction in check, “you’re improving at least, your arrows are actually homing in on the target. Remember when you first came here three moons ago, you could barely pull the bowstring.”</p><p>“Aye,” Henry shot in, grinning from ear to ear, “and in another three moons he might hit the actual target.” A few of the other Deers in the archery line laughed, and Ignatz seemed to shrink into himself.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said weakly, “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this…”</p><p>“Nonsense,” a stern voice came from behind them, shutting up the chuckling Deers with a collective click as mouths shut. Byleth, in his usual black uniform sans his seemingly impractical sleeved cape, was looking at them with his arms crossed over his chest.</p><p>“I think you hit the nail on the head with the ‘cut’ part, Ignatz.” The youth perked up a bit in curiosity. “Having watched your performance in the mock battle (cue another cringe from Ignatz) and in this past moon, I don’t think you’ll ever be an effective battlefield archer in the same vein as Master von Riegan and von Kent here.” Henry beamed, but Claude had to suppress an urge to frown in suspicion. This was not exactly conducive to build up intra-house relations; pitting students against and each other and pointing out strengths and weaknesses only exacerbated the lack of cohesion among the Golden Deer.</p><p>“However, not all archers are created equally,” Byleth continued while walking over to the weapons racks where he picked out a shorter, curved bow, “and while both Henry and Claude have the upper body strength to effectively draw the tension of a traditional longbow, your build might be better suited for a short-range curve-bow.” He handed Ignatz the shorter bow and a set of arrows with fierce looking barbed tips. “This bow has just over half the range of a normal self-bow, and about quarter of the range of a longbow in the hand of a skilled archer, but its penetration is much better, meaning you can take out even heavily armoured opponents with this smaller weapon.”</p><p>Claude nodded in agreement, his pang of confusion gone like rain in the summer. He stepped in and took the bow from Ignatz and held it slightly sideways in demonstration.</p><p>“The key to these,” he offered while nocking an arrow, “is to fire as quickly as possible. That is a general adage to most bows, but where a skilled longbowman can have up to four arrows in flight simultaneously, the shorter range and reduced curvature on the arrow’s flight path with this bow means you have to be fast on the draw. No time to line up a perfect shot, it’s simply loose and pray. Watch.”</p><p>He took three more arrows from Ignatz’s new quiver and planted them into the ground for quick access, and in a flurry of motion he nocked, drew and loosened all four arrows in less than fifteen seconds, all landing somewhere in the vicinity of the inner red circle of the forty yard mark. Ignatz’s eyes widened in amazement.</p><p>“Wow, that was incredible Claude,” he said with admiration in his voice, and Claude shook his head.</p><p>“The point I’m trying to make is that you’re able to fire off a rapid volley of arrows quicker and have them reach the target faster than a self-bow or a longbow, and therefore accuracy becomes secondary to sheer firepower and penetration value. Owain, be a dear Deer and pull out those arrows for me, please?”</p><p>Owain von Cairnwall was on his way to the benches to take a rest after sparring with Hilda (with bruises from the pink-haired lady’s wooden training axe decorating his bare arms) and groaned at Claude’s request, but went over to the target regardless.</p><p>“Again, watch,” Claude said to Ignatz and behind him Byleth’s eyes crinkled in what passed as an almost-smile for the stoic ex-mercenary.</p><p>Owain, one of the better lance and halberd fighters in Golden Deer, with clear ambition to become a paladin knight commander, and therefore with impressive sinewy muscles under his sleeveless shirt and leather padded tunic, had to actually brace hard to pull out the arrows.</p><p>“How did you manage this?” he half-shouted through gritted teeth, “they’re halfway through the other side of the damn hemp target!”</p><p>“And that’s the secret,” Claude said to Ignatz with a wink, “power and penetration, not precision and preparation.”</p><p>“Power and penetration, not precision and preparation,” Ignatz repeated, letting it sink in. He was a good student, Claude thought, if slightly impractical and clumsy when it came to put theory into execution. He gave Ignatz back the bow before looking at Byleth quizzically.</p><p>“Say, Teach, you said ‘cut’, but I don’t think you were referring to the cut of the curved bow, care to elaborate?”</p><p>Byleth nodded.</p><p>“Quite right, I was referring to Ignatz picking up swordsmanship in addition to archery. With that short-range bow, you’re going to find yourself up close and personal with the enemy in a real battle, so I think you can benefit from learning to use a sword as well. Your, ahem, delicate build suggests you won’t be having much success with axes or longswords, but lighter blades like a rapier or a falchion might be better suited for you. You’re fast on your feet, you’re nimble, so you should in theory –and with a lot of practice mind you– be able to dance around a heavier opponent and land strikes in critical areas like armour joints.”</p><p>“I- I’ll certainly think about it!” Ignatz said enthusiastically, eyes lit up and the previous feeling of embarrassment completely gone. Byleth gave him a reaffirming pat on the shoulder as he upended his quiver and started to plant arrows in the ground like Claude had done. The house leader decided he had had enough archery training, nodded to Henry and went over to the racks to stash his bow and quiver. Never the most gung-ho during training, Claude concluded that a break was in order now that Byleth was making the rounds among the other groups of training Deers. He sat down on one of the benches, next to a girl with curly platinum blonde hair lying outstretched, a wet cloth covering her face. <em>What was her name again</em>, Claude thought as he leaned back against the stone wall, <em>Gwyneth, Gabrielle, Giselle?</em> He leaned slightly over to see if he could glimpse her face under the cloth, but to no avail.</p><p>“Hiya, Claude,” a sweet voice piped up and he jumped back into leaning against the wall as nonchalantly as he could, “would you like a drink?” Deirde von Albany, dirty blonde hair tied in a stylish and surprisingly practical ponytail, had apparently forgiven Claude for the utter chaos with Hilda that had ended with the three of them stuck on kitchen duty for ten days straight, and was holding out a drinking skin at him, smiling warmly. <em>That crush on me still going strong, I see</em>, Claude vocalized internally as he reached out and grabbed the skin with a smile and the tiniest of winks which produced a giggle in the Albany girl. As he raised the skin to his mouth and tilted it back, she leaned in conspiratorially and whispered in his ear with an accompanying wink of her own.</p><p>“Just a head’s up, it’s not water.”</p><p>Claude’s eyebrows shot up as not water, but undiluted wine washed down his throat, and unprepared as he was, he had to focus all his energy on not coughing out his mouthful. He screwed the top back on the skin and handed it back to Deirdre who was still smiling sweetly.</p><p>“How did you come by this?” he asked in a low tone, not wanting the presumably napping student named something-G nearby to overhear. Deirdre tilted her head and took a swig of her own.</p><p>“That is a <em>sec-ret</em>,” she said in a singsong tone, which made Claude wince internally, “and a lady never tells, you know.” She winked at him again and skipped off towards another set of benches where Hilda and her usual gaggle of female friends were taking a break as well. Claude couldn’t help but smile. The Golden Deers were an odd bunch, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He laced his fingers behind his head and let his eyes dance across the training grounds.</p><p>Professor Byleth was talking to Lorenz and Leonie as they were taking a break in lance sparring, offering pointers to Leonie to go after Lorenz’ legs and telling Lorenz to be more aware of the reach of Leonie’s aggressive fighting style. Lysithea was alternating blasting apart human shaped wooden dummies with black magic spells and instructing Marianne and Alice Percy how to correctly shape the spell matrix without inverting the Anima flow while simultaneously –blah, blah, blah, magical stuff that Claude didn’t understand–. But although he didn’t understand the concept behind the application of magic (he had tried reading some books on it, but after a few hours he felt he understood <em>less</em> about magic than when he had started), he was perfectly aware of the sheer potential and power that the tiny white-haired teenager wielded. Not that he’d ever admit it publicly, but Claude was of the personal opinion that Lysithea might very well be the pride of Golden Deer House. Her mind was razor sharp and her innate mastery of both Faith and Reason magic rivalled and even surpassed the prodigies of the other houses, like Linhardt, Edelgard, Annette and Rowena Andraste. Her grades were A’s across the board, and he knew that she considered herself Teach’s favourite, which might actually be true though Claude had no proof of that. What she did score an F in was cooperation and communication with her fellow Deers. Even as Claude watched, she had begun to berate Alice for not correctly forming the spell matrix for Thunder with the result being a pitiful little spark instead of a blinding electric charge. Alice, taller and dark-haired and usually pretty dour –making her the opposite of Lysithea in many ways–, simply accepted the verbal shellacking with a nod and started to try again. Marianne simply looked downcast and awkward, but Raphael, who was walking past after having demolished a dummy using nothing but his bare hands, leaned in and boisterously claimed Marianne was able to “do whatever she put her mind to, as long as she wanted it bad enough.” Marianne was polite enough to nod her thanks before forming and casting Nosferatu on a dummy, shriveling it into dry sticks as the spell vaporised the water and sap in the wood. Claude winced, imagining what that could do to a person.</p><p>His train of thought was disturbed by Hilda’s loud giggling as she too was caught unawares by Deirdre and her innocent-looking drinking skin. Hilda was Claude’s best friend and the two had been fast companions before joining the Officer’s Academy; often he felt the mischievous pink-haired girl was as much his sister as Holst’s. He knew the untapped potential that lay in those misleadingly skinny arms, and he knew for a fact that the training axe that Hilda routinely whinged and whined about having to use had a steel core, making it easily three times heavier than the normal wooden ones, and yet she hefted it deftly and accurately. Deirdre was similar to Hilda in personality, though not visually: where Hilda was relatively short and innocent-looking, Deirdre was tall, blonde, and knew perfectly well how drop-dead gorgeous she was and used it to every advantage possible. She wasn’t exactly cruel or mean spirited, but she knew she had a certain effect on most males and a few females at the Monastery and she knew how to spin that to her benefit.</p><p>The girl on the bench with him suddenly sat up, removed the cloth and looked quizzically at Claude. <em>Ah,</em> he thought as memory slotted into place, <em>Gwendolyn’s her name, Gwendolyn von Couronne</em>. Long, lightly curly platinum blonde hair fell over a heart-shaped face with sea-green eyes before a delicate hand flicked it away accompanied by a grunt of annoyance. She too was usually one of Hilda’s inner circle, but was a much more diligent student, with a talent for both Faith magic and swordfighting. Claude liked her independent streak, since she had publically renounced her father and the Couronne family in favour of striking out on her own in response to her father wanting her to marry into higher nobility. She was easy on the eyes as well (surprisingly many of the Golden Deers were), but Gwendolyn certainly did not use that to win favours, instead relying on hard work and a sort of stubbornness to never admit defeat. Yeah, Claude liked her. Not like-like, he corrected himself mentally, but he admired her drive. He also had to admit he liked Gareth von Edgar, the only survivor of the Edgar family after an Almyran raid. The youth wasn’t particularly skilled in any one form of fighting, alternating between halberd, axes and Reason magic, but he didn’t seem to bear any sort of guilt or lingering animosity against the Almyrans, which Claude also admired. It took a great deal of strength to truthfully forgive an enemy, and even more strength to really exonerate yourself for living when people you love had died. Yeah, Gareth was a good lad, one of the younger Deers, just over a year older than little Lysithea. That particular little mage was showing off now, obliterating a dummy with a Luna spell, which made Claude wince again.</p><p>Looking over the assembled Deers, more than a hundred in total, his mind drifted back to the day of the inauguration ceremony, three moons and change ago. All the new students had been assembled in the entrance hall, all three-hundred-and-fifty odd packed into one big throng while Archbishop Rhea had appeared at the top of the stairs for everyone to see. Claude, tired from the journey from Deridru and still wearing his dusty travelling clothes, had perked up at the sight of the almost divine-looking archbishop, straining to get a better look. With an enigmatic smile on her lips, she had spread out her arms towards the assembled youths.</p><p>“Welcome, young ones, to Garreg Mach Monastery, and the Fódlan Officer’s Academy.” Her voice had been warm, kind, embracing, yet strong and carried across all corners of the large hall. “You represent the future of all of Fódlan, and you will be the ones to carry the burdens of leadership of the continent. You come from all corners of this great land, from the peaks of Brionac, to the valleys of Morgaine, the plains of Cairnwall, the mountains of Edmund, the frozen lands of Fraldarius and the towns of Gideon. The Officer’s Academy was established in order to make all future leaders of Fódlan come together, receive the same good fundamental education, and most importantly of all, meet each other and form personal bonds that will hopefully last all your lifetimes.”</p><p>Rhea’s smile grew and Claude could almost, <em>almost</em> feel himself buying into what she was saying wholesale. <em>Had it not been for the world outside Fódlan</em>, he thought with more than a twinge of bitterness.</p><p>“Yes, this is both a military and religious institution,” Rhea continued, “but it also a place for you and us all to forge new bonds, reflect on our world, and refine the skills that is required to make society function. Without crest-bearing nobility, as well as properly educated commoners, Fódlan would quickly fall to ruin, both guided by the Holy Church of Seiros. Just like the continent is divided into three political entities, so too is the Officer’s Academy, as well as the three pillars of society: nobility, the common folk, and the Church.” Claude couldn’t help smile exasperatedly at that last part.</p><p>He took a look around at the mass of people around him, folks he would have to live among for the next fourteen moons. There was a surprisingly large age gap between many of the students, stretching from their mid-teens (like Lysithea, whom Claude would later learn certainly did <em>not</em> like being reminded of her age) and much older ones, like Berthold von Ochs of the Black Eagles, who were already in his mid-twenties. After the introduction speech by the archbishop, they had all marched off to the reception hall where the tables and benches had been pushed aside to make use of the available space. Knights of Seiros had called out names and class affiliations, whereupon walking up the students had been issued their sets of regular uniform, underclothes, training shirts as well as summer and winter uniforms. Long coats, short sleeve shirts, ceremonial swords and daggers, formal dress uniforms, there was a lot Claude had never imagined he would need when he had convinced his grandfather to allow him to enrol here. He, Dimitri and Edelgard had been the last to be called forward, and with fanfare the trio had been announced as the house leaders of the Golden Deer, Blue Lions and Black Eagles respectively, and was granted the right to customize their uniform, in addition to wearing a half-cape in their house colour to make them stand out. Claude had not been a fan of this, and had opted for as similar a uniform to the rest of the students as possible, although favouring baggier trousers and less constrictive shirts, <em>and I’ll go to the hells and back before I wear a thrice-damned cravat.</em> It wasn’t that he didn’t like dressing up or wearing fancy clothes, in fact he was very partial to colourful costumes, but there was a time and place for everything, and this was not the time to underscore his otherness by indulging in flamboyance. He had however, made a personal touch by affixing a golden stag penchant once belonging to his uncle to the cape, as well as hidden wide-bladed knives inside each of his long boots. <em>I stand out enough as it is</em>, his thoughts had raced at the time, <em>and</em> <em>I don’t need to flaunt my otherness any more than necessary</em>.</p><p>The inauguration ceremony had been completed with a pretty nice feast in the dining hall, which Claude might have enjoyed, had it not been for the awkward silence, uncertain glances, and uncomfortably stiff conversations among the Golden Deer students, most of whom didn’t know each other previously. He remembered being seated next to Raphael and Alice Percy, and while he was pretty confident his Gods-given ability at small talk had carried him through admirably, the same could not be said for many of his fellow Deers, such as Marianne, Henry, Ignatz, and Gareth. That had been tough to watch, even as a third-party spectator, none making any headway apart from; “this soup is nice”, <em>Marianne</em>, “yes, this bread too,” <em>Gareth</em>, “the bread from my village is pretty good also,” <em>Ignatz</em>, “yeah, I bet,” <em>Henry</em>. Oof, rough. Afterwards, they had been assigned their dorm rooms and to Claude’s dismay he had been assigned to the noble wing on the second floor in the main dormitory. There were two more dormitories beyond the inner walls of the Academy, which had their own associated mess hall for breakfast and late night meals, but these were almost exclusively for the non-noble students. Claude had hoped for a first floor room (easier to access and slip out of), but he had to admit being inside the court walls was a bonus. He had ripped off his travelling clothes and fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow that night, exhausted from travel and all the new impressions. Taking stock and personal notes would have to wait until the morning.</p><p>Claude was glad they had had two moons to build up their relationships, both professional and personal, before the three-way mock battle between the houses. The students, for the most part, still hadn’t specialized in any one particular style of combat or class (apart from Lysithea and Claude of course), but they were a lot less horrible during their weekly full-house sparring sessions than they had been two moons back. Claude noted with an accompanying grin that Leonie had flipped Lorenz over while he had been mentally absent, and took pleasure in the tall noble complaining that Leonie had somehow cheated. Professor Byleth had moved on and was instead discussing something with Owain and Ross Duncan. Gwendolyn stretched her arms over her head and nodded a wordless greeting to Claude before putting on her padded training armour and striding over to a rack of training spears. With a sigh, Claude realized his short break had lasted quite a while longer than he had planned, but as he rose to pick up his bow and trudge back to the archery line, Byleth waved him over.</p><p>“Hey, Teach,” he said with a lop-sided smile as Byleth met him halfway, “did you need me for something?”</p><p>The stoic ex-mercenary nodded. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about this moon’s assignment.”</p><p>“If it’s another mock battle…” Claude moaned, but Byleth shook his head.<br/>“No, as a matter of fact, Rhea has given us a serious challenge this time.”</p><p>Claude’s ears perked up in interest, but he kept his face the same nonchalant mask.</p><p>“You remember the bandits chasing you, Edelgard, Dimitri and your retinues a few moons back?”</p><p>He nodded gravely in response, a feeling of enthusiasm building a bit.</p><p>“I sure do, and I remember how easily you, Sir Jeralt and your mercenary band took care of them. There wasn’t a whole lot for us students to do but watch as the professionals did your jobs.”</p><p>Byleth’s eyes might have shone a bit at that, Claude wasn’t sure, but the Professor’s expression remained the same sober one he usually wore.</p><p>“Well,” he said after glancing around at the Deers, some of them starting to pack up their training equipment, “this time will be different.” His voice sounded almost… apprehensive?</p><p>“This time it will not be just me and the mercenaries fighting the bandits. The leader of the bandit gang has been located in Zanado, the Red Canyon. Scouts reports that he has assembled a new band of raiders, and the size of their party is causing concern among the nearby lords and village leaders. To that end, Rhea has tasked the Golden Deers to help the Knights of Seiros drive them out.” Byleth’s eyes narrowed. “By any means necessary if required. I think you know what that means.”</p><p>Claude swallowed hard, excitement and worry starting to dance in his stomach.</p><p>“Yeah, Teach, I think I do,” he said, his smile replaced by a serious look.<br/>“It means the Golden Deers are going to learn how to fight when lives are on the line.”</p><p>Byleth nodded solemnly. The voice of a young girl was speaking in his ear, speaking of taking children into battle. He clutched the pommel of his sheathed sword so tight his knuckles whitened underneath his gloves.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Regarding Duties and Fish</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Dimitri had to make an entrance at some point and I wanted to explore further what the other houses are up to when the player's house of choice are off doing the story missions. Again, please in your mind's eye imagine Garreg Mach much larger than it is in-game, especially the lake, as the size makes perfect sense game-wise, but is just bonkers small logistically. Thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Throngs of people had gathered to see the Golden Deers and the Knights off as they rode out the monastery’s main gate. Monks, merchants, servants, other students, garrison soldiers and other onlookers cheered and waved as the thirty or so Deers that Professor Byleth, Claude and Seteth had deemed ready for actual combat, departed alongside a contingent of Knights of Seiros, led by Sir Luna Kolosim. The white and silver banners of the Knights flapped in the morning breeze, uncommonly cold for being the Harpstring Moon. Many of the knights waved back to the people they passed, but most of the students had their eyes fixed on the back of their horse’s neck, or were staring straight ahead, solemn expressions on their faces. Dimitri, standing slightly apart from the cheering groups and dressed in the usual black-and-gold uniform, saw Claude with his usual unaffected smile share a joke with a tall Golden Deer with a halberd and carefully combed black hair, before turning and saying something to a ginger-haired boy –no, a girl– who shook her head at him. The students wore for the most part their pale summer uniforms and long travelling cloaks, personal armour and gear stowed in the carriages that followed behind the mounted party. Some, like Claude, a pink-haired lady named Hilda, and the black-haired youth next to Claude (Dimitri felt a pang of shame upon realizing he had no idea who most of the Golden Deers were) were accompanied by squires and retainers of their own. The largest personal party belonged to a spindly purple-haired noble with an… unfortunate haircut, and one of his squires carried the blue and gold standard of House Gloucester, which jarred visually with the Knights’ white and silver ones. A few of the Deers were talking excitedly among each other as they started to pass through the gate, the garrison soldiers on duty and on the wall ramparts saluting them as they passed, and Dimitri saw a chestnut-haired Deer blow a kiss to a Black Eagle student in the midst of the bystanders. It shouldn’t have been Claude and the Golden Deers, Dimitri thought bitterly, but he willed his facial expression to remain impassive. It should have been the Blue Lions. It should have been him.</p><p><em>Yes</em>, the Voice said, <em>it should have been you. It should have been you, you should have been condemned to the flames, you deserved it, not the household knights, not Glenn, not Patricia, not your fa</em>–.</p><p>Dimitri shut the Voice out. He had been getting better at that lately. The Voice was a thing of the past, not the present and certainly not the future. He sighed as the last of the carriages carrying the supplies and gear for the expedition cleared the gatehouse and the crowds started to disperse, the morning’s excitement giving way to the daily tasks that lay ahead. Dimitri kicked a pebble that bounced across the cobblestone path, and lamented his and his house’s fate for the umpteenth time since learning Claude and the Deers was getting a real mission. With over a dozen of the more accomplished and skilful Black Eagle students still in the infirmary (Edelgard, Ferdinand von Aegir, Bertholdt von Ochs and Constantine von Rusalka among them), the understrength house had been temporarily put under the joint leadership of Hubert von Vestra and Eleanor von Morgaine. According to the Academy scuttlebutt, the two were almost ready to tear each other’s throats out after three days working together, but they remained civil in public to keep up appearances for Edelgard’s sake. Originally, again according to rumours (which Dimitri had to admit needed to be accepted with a grain of salt since his source had been Annette), Rhea and Seteth had concluded that the Black Eagles was the house most ready for actual combat, since they had a formidable core of nobles already accustomed to military training. But when almost half of them, including the house leader, had been knocked senseless by training dummies, they had been forced to revisit their strategy. The Blue Lions, as far as Dimitri was aware, had not even been considered for the task of clearing out the bandits from Zanado.</p><p>Now that the main entrance to Garreg Mach was clear, the merchants set about opening their stalls for the day’s business, and Dimitri found himself almost forced away by the bustle of the smiths, traders, mercenaries, peddlers and food stall vendors. He walked absentmindedly in the general direction of the mess hall, and soon found himself standing by the monastery’s artificial lake. Intricate aqueducts and sluicing systems ensured that Garreg Mach always had fresh water available, and even brought in fresh fish from the nearby Oghma River, which was connected to the Tailtean and Gideon Rivers, bringing in all manners of different species of fish and freshwater crustaceans. Or so Dimitri was told, he wasn’t personally all that interested in fishing. He had noted that the new Golden Deer professor seemed to be mesmerised by it, spending long hours by the pond. The bell signalling that the morning meal was being served rang out, but Dimitri made no move to join the trickle of students and faculty staff that congregated around the mess hall entrances. Instead he looked out over the pond and allowed himself to wallow in a moment of self-pity.</p><p>Of the three houses, the Golden Deer was by far the most eclectic and seemed like the most disjointed of the three. They had some incredible students with natural aptness for certain combat arts, while at the same time they were suffering from a noted lack of cohesion and discipline. The Black Eagles were better off in that regard, Dimitri grudgingly admitted to himself, but they were dominated by that particular core of exceptional nobles, with the students outside this inner clique (especially the commoners) being neglected. He was sure this wasn’t Edelgard’s intention, but there was only so much the house leader could do to keep everyone involved, and it didn’t help that some of the nobles were very, ah, particular in their dealings with commoner students. By comparison, the Blue Lions were much more close-knit, with both nobles and commoners getting along pretty well. Sure enough, there were some disruptive elements. Dimitri, casting a quick glance around to ensure he was alone, ground his teeth as he recalled last weekend and the time and effort he and Ingrid had put in to clear up Sylvain’s recent romantic escapades with a merchant’s daughter. Although as a unit, the Lions were coming together pretty well, especially considering they had had only three moons to get to know each other. And for the most part, the Lions were serious and studious for which Dimitri was thankful and proud. He would certainly have judged them to be more ready for an actual mission against real enemies rather than Claude’s ragged band. It grated on him.</p><p>So instead Rhea and Seteth had concluded that the Golden Deers and the new professor were to deal with the bandits in Zanado. The depleted Black Eagles were to deliver the moonly grain dole from the monastery’s granary to the villages in Garreg Mach’s demesne, a relatively harmless if important undertaking for the hundreds of villagers who relied on the generosity of the Church to scrape by when harvests were poor. At worst, as Seteth had told Hubert and Eleanor, they would be set upon by poorly equipped outlaws who were bandits in name only; in reality they were just desperate peasants driven to extremes by hunger and despair. Ten armed Black Eagles would accompany each grain carriage as escort and to deter any attempt at theft, which Sir Jeralt had deemed more than sufficient. “And what is the duty of the Blue Lions?” Dimitri had ventured when the three house leaders had been summoned before Lady Rhea to receive their missions a week prior. <br/>Why, to carry out maintenance on all the Academy’s arms and armour plus oil and replace the ropes of the ballistae and mangonels on the curtain walls of the Monastery. A glorious mission, to be sure. It irked Dimitri just thinking about it, especially the cocksure grin of Claude and his mocking comment that he envied the Lions for being snug as a bug at home while his Deers were off into the wilderness fighting evildoers. Dimitri’s hands curled into fists.</p><p><em>You are not fit to lead</em>, the Voice rasped at the back of his mind; <em>in fact, you are not fit to remain in this world. Why should you find purpose and lead others to glory when your royal father ended his days in a ditch, covered by the</em>–.</p><p>“That is enough,” Dimitri hissed under his breath, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. The Voice was part of him, just as his hands and feet were, but it wasn’t <em>him</em>. It was something else, something belonging to someone else, someone who was both Dimitri, and also not, but–.</p><p>He stopped his brooding as someone stepped onto the small lake promenade, a short figure with an elaborate curly hairstyle coloured an impressive green. Her dress was similar, but also alien from the standard Academy uniform, and she seemed to be humming to herself. In her hands was a wicker basket filled with something Dimitri couldn’t quite make out and with a grunt she put it down at the end of the promenade before sitting down on her knees. Intrigued, Dimitri couldn’t help himself, and leaned on some nearby crates as he tried to get a better look. The girl hiked up the sleeves to her uniform tunic and dug her hands into the basket, and then with a flailing motion hurled lots of very small silvery bits into the lake. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Dimitri walked up the promenade and gently cleared his throat. The girl let out a surprised <em>uaagh</em>, and let go of the next batch of whatever she was holding in her hands so they flew everywhere. Dimitri instinctively put his hands up to shield his face from whatever it was, and was bombarded with small juvenile roach.</p><p>“I am so terribly sorry,” the girl cried, “I did not know there was anyone here, and you startled me.” She had risen from her knees and was bowing profusely in apology. Dimitri waved a hand disarmingly. <br/>“No worries, no damage done,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his face, before he stopped and sniffed his black and gold tunic. <em>Yeah, that’s not going to wash off anytime soon</em>. “Anyway,” he said, trying desperately not to gag at the rank smell of fish, “what are you doing with that basket of fish? I thought the lake was self-sufficient in terms of fodder?”</p><p>The girl nodded eagerly. “It both is and isn’t,” she said excitedly, “for while there are a lot of algae growth along the bottom of the lake, as well as an abundance of insects attracted to the nearby greenhouse, some of the larger specimens that live here need a bit more feed than what can be reliably sluiced in.”</p><p>She took another handful of small roach and threw them into the water, pointing at where they landed and Dimitri squinted his eyes in concentration. Suddenly the floating silvery bits disappeared with small <em>plops</em> and disturbances in the calm water. The girl beamed at him.</p><p>“The pikes and gars, especially the large Teutates pikes, are notorious carnivores, and if they’re not fed regularly from the shore, they will quickly empty the entire lake. Over time, the larger predatory fish have come to expect feeding by humans, and have largely stopped attacking and consuming the smaller fish here, leading to a large variety of co-existing species unlike anything one may encounter in the wild.”</p><p>“Wow, I had no idea the life in the lake was this regulated, it is actually impressive.” Dimitri surprised himself by how genuine he was. The green-haired girl smiled widely at him, and tossed the last of the feed into the water.</p><p>“The Goddess teaches us that all life is sacred, and we must only take what we need. Although all things need to eat, in this way we can control the behaviour of the fish to live peacefully together.”</p><p>Dimitri opened his mouth to point out that she was in fact hurling what had been live juvenile fish into the water, but stopped himself. The girl was obviously heavily invested in the artificial biosphere in the lake, and he didn’t want to ask uncomfortable questions. Plus, it was too early in the morning for a debate on the sanctity of life.</p><p>“Speaking of eating,” he said instead, “would you like to accompany me to the mess hall for the morning meal? If you are not busy, that is,” he added quickly at the end. As the sentence had been leaving his mouth he had become aware how it could be construed, but the green-haired girl simply giggled.</p><p>“I would be delighted, I have not yet eaten and food always tastes better in the company of others.” She put her hands in a nearby bucket of clean water to rinse off the foul smelling fish scales.</p><p><em>Yes, food does certainly taste better when enjoyed with others</em>, the Voice piped up, <em>does it not, princeling? </em>Dimitri gritted his teeth behind a closed mouth, but said nothing as the girl shook off the water from her hands and straightened her skirt. A pang of realisation suddenly hit Dimitri like a crossbow bolt.</p><p>“Oh, my apologies, I have not introduced myself, have I? My name is Dimitri Blaiddyd, house leader of the Blue Lions.” He bowed politely, a hand on his chest. The girl smiled.</p><p>“I know who you are, my brother talks about you quite often when discussing matters of the academy with Rhea.”</p><p>Dimitri blinked in confusion. <br/>“Your brother?”</p><p>“I am Flayn,” the girl said with a courteous bow of her own to match Dimitri’s, “Seteth’s younger sister. I assist him and Rhea in different matters pertaining to the monastery, such as light menial tasks like you just witnessed, or help organise the library, run errands, and the like.”</p><p>A pang of recognition flashed in Dimitri’s mind; he remembered seeing Flayn at the inauguration ceremony, as well as a few times at the marketplace, but had no idea that she wasn’t a student.</p><p>“Well then,” he said after a short pause, “shall we be off to the mess hall? I believe the worst of the queues should be gone by now.” Flayn nodded her enthusiastic agreement and the two walked the short distance up the stairs.</p><p>Garreg Mach had three mess halls, the one in the inner court was the larger of the three, the ones between the inner and curtain walls usually serving only morning and late meals and their adjoining kitchens were much simpler affairs. The grand mess hall (as it was usually called to differentiate between them) was for the students with dorm rooms on the inside of the inner walls, as well as for the faculty staff and the officers of the garrison and the Knights of Seiros. The cathedral had its own mess hall for the monks and monastery staff. Regardless of where it lay and whom were served there, the common meals were pretty similar. Morning meals were usually bread, hard cheese, a few slices of salted pork or fish, and some fruit, depending on what was in season. The simple but filling meal was swallowed down by wine heavily diluted by water; this served both to purify the somewhat dodgy quality of the drinking water as well as give it some flavour other than “stagnant water”. Tea was also served, a treat much appreciated by many of the students not used to many luxuries. This was an elite academy with a reputation to uphold after all.</p><p>The queues had died down considerably and it was a simple matter of simply grabbing a platter already prepared by the kitchen staff, and sitting down along one of the tables. A few Blue Lions were huddled around a table, Dimitri recognising Jeanne Charon, Mercedes, and Annette plus a few others. He steered clear of them and he and Flayn sat down at a mostly empty table, only the far end occupied by few Black Eagles, one of them with an arm in a sling struggling to slice up her cheese. Flayn led the charge in talking and was soon gabbing away about the monastery, the statues of the Saints in the cathedral, as well as a few fisherman’s tales about huge catches that she had been <em>this close</em> to reeling in. Dimitri simply smiled, answered or asked questions where natural, all the while with perfect etiquette eating his meal. It tasted like nothing. He loved the texture of cheese, but he was starting to forget what it even tasted like. <em>This is your punishment</em>, the Voice said, making its wholly unwelcome return, <em>this is for making it through when none of the others did. This is for have the audacity to keep on living a privileged life when the rest of your family and friends were denied the chance to live out theirs</em>. He gripped his knife so hard he could feel some of the muscles in his wrist protesting. His knuckles were surely as white as snow, but they were hidden by his black gloves. <em>And you will never be able to find peace, not before you follow them into the…</em></p><p>A sudden commotion at the end of the mess hall and a few raised voices grabbed their attention. Raised voices Dimitri recognised.</p><p>“Oh no,” said Dimitri.</p><p><em>Oh no</em>, said the Voice.</p><p>With a facial expression akin to a winter storm, Felix was marching steadfast towards where Dimitri and Flayn were sitting, with Rhobart Leyr and Sylvain walking quickly in his wake, trying to calm him down. Heads turned, and those who knew Felix quickly turned back to their meals. Dimitri could see in the corner of his eye Annette and Mercedes share a concerned look between each other before looking in his direction. <em>Wonderful, he must have learned about this moon’s “mission”</em>.</p><p>“A friend of yours?” Flayn asked innocently and Dimitri swallowed hard.</p><p>“I believe you can call him that some of the time, but it does not look like this is one of those times. If you’ll excuse me,” he said while rising up from the bench and looking for the nearest exit, “I need to make myself scarce unless I want to play host to a most unwelcome spectacle. It was nice meeting you, and I hope you have a good day.”</p><p>He bowed quickly before Flayn could reply and started to walk briskly in the direction of one of the double doors.</p><p>“Boar! Get back here, you have some explaining to do!” Felix’ angry shouting made Dimitri’s feet only move faster and he could hear Rhobart desperately trying to get Felix to have this conversation somewhere less public, but the angry Fraldarius swordsman would not listen.</p><p><em>If you know what’s good for you, you better pick up the pace</em>, the Voice pleaded in the back of his mind, and for once, Dimitri was in complete agreement.  </p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. New and Old Beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I realise that Byleth's perspective and background should have come a bit earlier, but I liked the idea of starting off with relatively harmless (sorry Petra, Dedue, Edelgard) daily grind in Garreg Mach, before jumping into the more serious stuff. Much of this chapter is teasing and laying the groundwork for canon story divergence later on. The original draft of this chapter was considerably darker, and I cut the worst part of it upon second reading and going "sheesh, that's more than a bit much". Suffice it to say, Byleth has a lot of baggage, but he tries his best to not let it show.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tents had been erected in two protective circles, the smaller inner one belonging to the students and the larger outer ring being the knights’ and squires’. Dusk was quickly approaching and the sun cast the last orange rays of the day, bathing the camp in a beautiful hue. Fires had already been lit with students and knights alike huddling beside them, cooking food and warming limbs after hours of muscle-numbing riding. They were but a few hours travel from the entrance of the Red Canyon of Zanado, taking shelter near a copse of trees and a small stream. Byleth walked slowly through the camp, taking note of how his students were holding up. <em>His</em> students, the possessive case seemed so foreign, now a full moon since arriving at Garreg Mach and having the role of professor foisted on him. He didn’t belong at the Academy, he belonged here. A warm sense of recognition and tranquillity was settling now that the camp had been pitched; it reminded him of all the years he had followed his dad’s mercenary company around. Byleth had grown up in camps almost just like this, taken his first tentative steps as a toddler among tents and mercenaries sharpening their weapons with whetstones, and his first words had been imitations of shouted orders. Now, however, the gruff but sympathetic veterans of Jeralt’s company had been replaced by nervous teenagers out on their first proper expedition, at the end of which they would have to fight and kill. At least, that had been his reaction once. Now they were phantom echoes of a different time, but he still felt its bite in his heart.</p><p>Sir Luna Kolosim had ordered sentries to be posted at regular intervals a bit away from the camp, mostly knights and squires, but also a few students so that they would learn proper camp craft. Byleth liked Luna. She wasn’t particularly physically imposing, with braided black hair that impractically (for a knight that is) reached the small of her back, and she rarely seemed to smile, but her hazel eyes shone with good humour and compassion for those under her charge. She was deferential enough towards Byleth, mindful of the fact that he was Jeralt’s son and apprentice, as well as his reputation as the “Ashen Demon”. Byleth’s jaw muscles tensed. He absolutely hated that moniker. Anyway, Luna had organised the setting-up of the camp and the sentries, leaving Byleth to walk the rounds and give his students some words of encouragement before the big day tomorrow. Again, that possessive case irked him.</p><p>Underneath a tall cedar tree, Owain von Cairnwall was leaning on a spear, while Gareth von Edgar was prodding a small fire with his dagger, the two chosen for watch duty together. Instead of walking up to them immediately, Byleth stuck to the shadows and observed the pair. Owain was a serious soul, a tall, black-haired, athletic youth from the “Blueblood Merchant” House of Cairnwall. Slightly older than most of the Deers, he had at nineteen years old already been trained by the Cairnwall household knights for a good while, and he was pretty adept at using the halberd, and had the physique to move quite gracefully while wearing armour. Many of the Deers were still not accustomed to that even after three moons of training, but some of the nobles like Owain, Lorenz, and Deirdre had previous experience during their martial education as part of growing up in highborn circumstances. And some like Claude and Hilda eschewed armour as impractical (or “unfashionable” in the case of the latter). Owain was obviously tired, his shoulders slumped and he leaned pretty heavily on his spear, but his eyes were wide open and scanning the open landscape past the treeline. He had changed out of his pale summer uniform into a ringmail-and-leather hauberk, with his travelling cloak draped around his shoulders.</p><p>
  <em>Majestic gilded plate armour, and a crimson and gold surcoat, halberd in lobstered plate gauntlets, holding the line in the mud that was stained with the blood of thousands, holding among exhausted bodies encased in plate, preparing to receive the charge of barded horses and their deaths at the tips of steel lances…</em>
</p><p>Gareth, shorter than Owain, but still quite svelte, was a polite and well-meaning kid. He appeared slightly older than his sixteen years, much thanks to a scar that traced his right cheek and ran all the way up to his burgundy hairline. Byleth knew he had been through a personal hell when he was younger, and that scar served as a grim reminder of what had happened to his family. Byleth knew. Byleth knew too much.</p><p>
  <em>A bridge, more akin to a fortress than infrastructure, is consumed by the baleful and uncaring flames. The massive gatehouse is forced open, scattered weapons and bodies litter the breach, a dirty mop of dark red hair flows in the hot wind. Nothing else is visible, bricks and rocks spattered with crimson cover the rest…</em>
</p><p>His head throbbed with the phantom images of something that had both happened and would never happen, events that both would and wouldn’t transpire. Shaking his head as if that would clear his mind, Byleth stepped out of the shadow of the trees and approached the pair. To Owain’s credit, he didn’t start when Byleth cleared his throat to make his presence known. Gareth though, he sprang up to his feet reaching for his bow, before sitting back down with a thump once he saw it was just the Professor doing the rounds.</p><p>“How are you two doing?” Byleth asked, voice kept low. He knew how far sound could travel at night.</p><p>Owain shrugged. “Nothing’s moving apart from the occasional fox or owl, but for some reason it spooks Gareth every time.”</p><p>Gareth shot Owain a dirty look, but didn’t say anything, seemingly preferring to stir the logs of the fire with his dagger.</p><p>“Good,” Byleth replied, his eyes instinctively scanning the horizon, “Luna believes the bandits haven’t noticed us, and I agree. But that doesn’t mean we can afford to slack on our watch; if they attack us in our sleep, it won’t help how many Knights of Seiros we’ve brought along.”</p><p>Owain nodded and Gareth swallowed hard. Byleth gave them a confident nod and placed a hand on Gareth’s shoulder.</p><p>“Don’t worry though, the Knights know their craft, so you can sleep easy when your watch is over.” His eyes became stern for a moment.<br/>“But that is still a few hours away, so until then stay vigilant and keep a sharp lookout, the rest of the camp and your fellow students are relying on you. There is a reason why it is common in professional armies and military companies to flog those who fall asleep on watch.”</p><p>Turning on his heel to check in on other students, Byleth noticed in the corner of his eye Gareth putting his bow in his lap and Owain straightening up considerably. <em>Nice going</em>, the young voice in his head said in a sarcastic tone, <em>indirectly threatening children with corporeal punishment. It’s been a while since you’ve used the scary approach to get the little ones in line.</em></p><p>“It’s not to scare them,” he whispered once he was pretty sure he was out of earshot, “it is to reinforce a point. We’ve both witnessed all too many times what happens when I give them too much leeway in the early part of their training.”</p><p><em>Why did you come back? </em>She had been slouching on her throne, just like every other time she had appeared before him. Or him before her, it really depended on perspective.</p><p>Why had he come back? Years, decades, lifetimes, had been spent trying to bring peace and order to Fódlan, trying to save those precious to him, trying to save everyone. At this point he had lost count how many times he had tried, uncountable attempts at leading the Kingdom, the Church, the Empire, or the Alliance to victory. It always failed and it always came at too high a cost. On bad days he was not able to look at the students’ faces without seeing their lifeless expressions and blank eyes staring at nothing on one blood-drenched battlefield or other. For years he had tried, tried to gather them all under his wings and protect them, but he never succeeded; they would inexorably head down the path to all-consuming war, and many would die. He too would inevitably die before the end, never learning who was behind it all, never live to see all the dots connected. So he had simply stopped. The carnage, the fruitlessness, the sheer mind-numbing insanity of fighting an unwinnable war and see all those he loved die over and over had simply broken him. For many, many cycles now, he had simply not gone to Garreg Mach and the Academy, striking out as a mercenary with his father or on his own, settling down as a trader, travelled outside Fódlan, become a scholar, done countless other things. In the end, he would be caught up in the rampaging madness of the war, and he would still die, sometimes killed by marauding soldiers from one army or the other, sometimes falling ill and dying from diseases caused by the fighting, sometimes by sheer dumb luck. During this time, Sothis had simply not spoken to him, merely falling into a long, deep slumber that she didn’t seem to wake up from, and his ability to control the hands of time were never awakened. Still, the cycle started anew when he inevitably met his end. But during this seemingly endless number of unfruitful lives lived, he had started to notice a pattern. Every cycle, some small event that had not previously occurred would take place, some new faces would be added to the old familiar ones, and some things would slightly change. Over time, these had added up and Byleth had come to realise that in his absence from the epicentre of events, the order of “the story” he had once been so accustomed with had become unrecognisable to him. And so, one day he had decided to give it one more attempt. The next thing he knew he was looking at Sothis on her throne, the same sight he had seen infinity times before. But now, for the first time in probably centuries, he was filled with a sense of purpose.</p><p><em>I see you have had a change of heart</em>, she had said.</p><p>“I have.” A smile had graced his lips, a warm flood of elation washing through him, assuaging a sense of saudade that he had nourished for what was probably centuries.</p><p>“I have missed you, you know.” His voice had been husky with emotion.</p><p>
  <em>As well you should, you have been straying off the path for far too long.</em>
</p><p>“I am sorry, but you know why.”</p><p>
  <em>I know, loved one, I was with you every time, and I know what it did to you, especially the fate of that precious one. I know how much it hurt you, tore you up inside, to see them fall or wither away, how much you suffered every time they inevitably met their end. I cannot be angry at you for wanting a break for a time.</em>
</p><p>“Thank you for that, and thank you for being there for me all thes-”</p><p>
  <em>But wallowing in your own pity for all these long years?! Phooeyh! I did not imagine you to give up so easily. It was quite unbecoming, not to mention unbearably boring. Neither of us will ever find peace before you manage to get to the answers to it all. Who are you truly? Who are the ones pulling the strings? How did I come to be in this state, inside your mind? </em>
</p><p>“Ah, I can admit that the intermission was a bit excessive…”</p><p>
  <em>A bit excessive?! You have in truth lost count of how many cycles you have faffed around, doing everything but what you are supposed to be doing. </em>
</p><p>“I am back now, am I not?”</p><p>
  <em>That is true, but what do you expect to do this time that will be different from before?</em>
</p><p>“I will do what I did the very first time, play it by ear. I am convinced that things will be different this cycle. But I need your help, Sothis. I need unbridled control of the hands of time. For the first time since… well, the first time, I truly have no idea what is going to happen. So many things have inexplicably changed. I've observed from afar the last few cycles, and it's not recognizable any more, so much of it all has changed. Things will happen that many cycles ago never would have, and I need to once again step into the centre of events.”</p><p>
  <em>My, it is refreshing to hear you speak with passion again. And of course you have my assistance, silly. We are one after all, are we not?</em>
</p><p>A rustling of fabric and wood followed by loud laughter pulled Byleth back into the present.</p><p><em>Oh yes, reinforcing a point</em>, present time Sothis said, snarky tone dampened after reliving his return to the path they were supposed to walk down, <em>sounds exactly like perfect soldiering, if you want my opinion.</em></p><p>“You know, I actually really don’t,” Byleth said testily before walking back to the camp proper to investigate the sounds.</p><p>He was surprised by how unsurprised he was with the spectacle he was greeted with. Hells, he had missed the silly antics of his students. Lorenz stood in the collapsed pile of his tent, the woollen tent itself covering him like a poor impression of a ghost. Claude, Hilda, Leonie, Gwendolyn, and Henry were howling with laughter, the house leader himself struggling to breathe between guffaws.</p><p>“Claude!” Lorenz screeched while trying to untangle himself from the tent and the ropes, “I swear to the Goddess, I will make you pay for this, I know it was you who did this!”</p><p>Trying his absolute best to control his laughter and breathing, while wiping away tears of mirth, Claude quickly chucked away a length of rope that snaked its way along the grass over towards Lorenz’ pile of tent.</p><p>“I have no idea what you mean,” he answered in as serious a tone as he could muster, which is to say, not doing a very good job of sounding serious. “You must be getting paranoid on the eve of battle, my friend, I don’t know what else to tell ya.”</p><p>“Master von Riegan,” Byleth said menacingly, but his eyes were dancing with amusement, had anyone been able to see it in the poor light of the campfires. Henry and Hilda evidently remembered they had terribly important business to deal with somewhere else, and Leonie practically dove into her own nearby tent. Byleth could hear a subdued “oh balls” from the main suspect, before Claude turned around with an easy smile on his face.</p><p>“Oh hey, Teach, good timing, looks like Lorenz have some trouble pitching his tent. Perhaps you can show him how it’s done properly? That way he can avoid such embarrassing displays, unsuitable for a highborn noble of his stature, in the future?”</p><p>“I don’t know if I am more impressed by your attempt to weasel your way out of blame or your dedication to inconvenience young Lord Gloucester.”</p><p>“Ah, so what you’re saying is that I am a committed soul?”</p><p>“No, I am saying I have half a mind to put you in charge of watching the horses and the supply wagons during the fighting tomorrow.”</p><p>Claude’s patented “lovable scamp” expression cracked completely.</p><p>“Teach, come on,” he pleaded, crestfallen. “It was just a harmless little prank, no one got hurt, I just ran a line through all his tent plugs and…”</p><p>“I knew it,” Lorenz shouted angrily, having finally untangled himself, “you scoundrel, you’re not worthy the title you claim to be in line for, you rotten piece of-”</p><p>Byleth held up an arresting hand and both Claude and Lorenz shut their mouths with an audible click.</p><p>“I don’t care about Gloucester’s tent, Goddess knows he brought more than a few extra along. What I do care about is noise discipline and at least keeping up the appearance of a somewhat professional military force. I know tomorrow will be the first time you all will be using sharp weapons against actual foes, and nerves are on edge, but that is no excuse to act like school children. Claude, I expect you to re-pitch Lorenz’ tent. You too, Miss Couronne.”</p><p>Gwendolyn, who was trying her best to not draw attention to herself by brewing some tea over the nearby campfire, visibly cringed and turned towards Byleth, her green eyes doing a fairly solid puppy-dog eyes impression.</p><p>“I was but a bystander,” she said pleadingly, “I didn’t do anything.”</p><p>“And I don’t care,” Byleth replied, crossing his arms over his chest, “but it will go much faster if you help, and I don’t entirely trust Claude to not do something untoward, like put stomach poison in Lorenz’ water bottle.”</p><p>Lorenz turned back towards Claude with an angry expression.</p><p>“Again, you damn sneak? What is it with you and poisons?”</p><p>“Hey! I wasn’t planning on anything like that, that is just slander!”</p><p>“Regardless, Gwendolyn will help and ensure everything is alright. If something happens again, I will punish the both of you. Now go to sleep, tomorrow is a big day, and I want you all rested and ready by first light.”</p><p>Grumbling, Claude and Gwendolyn got to reassembling the pile of poles, ropes and fabric, Lorenz hovering nearby, angrily observing. Byleth turned to go back towards his own tent, and with his back to them he could finally let his face relax into a wide grin. Yes, he had missed this. Dear Goddess how he had missed all of this.</p>
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